Liberty, Equality, Fraternity
by Cunien
Summary: How Jack sacked Nassau port without firing a single shot - angry puritanical mobs, rum, sugar plantations, the odd donkey, and Captain Jack Sparrow, the Revolutionist!
1. Consorting with the Devil

** Liberty, Equality. Fraternity -by Cunien  
  
Well I said there would be a young-Jack fic, but that's been put on hold for a while as this tale was deemed more important by Sir Sparrow.  
  
I meant to post this chapter earlier but I've been in London Engerland baybee to see the Lord of the Rings exhibition which was the most stunning thing ever ( Excuse me while I come across all fan-girly- we saw Legolas's costume! Orlando Bloom actually wore it!)  
and__ I bought a pack of movie cards on a total whim and inside was a card with Viggo Mortensen's autograph. His actual autograph. Not reproduced. The real thing - there was a one in a very big number chance that you could get a special card inside, either with a characters costume on it, or an even slimmer chance of an autograph. And I got one! HUZZAH!   
  
So I have something that Viggo Mortensen actually _touched._   
Oh Dear God I am one lucky girl.  
**  
**Disclaimer - I'm too overcome to say anything more than this isn't mine, though I own all original characters, ships, objects and Viggo Mortensen's autograph.  
  
Also a few lines have been shamelessly pilfered in true pirate style from Monty Python.  
  
Chapter 1 - Consorting with the Devil.**  
  
Now before you jump to conclusions, I'd like to make it clear that none of what I'm about to relate was my fault.  
  
Well maybe some of it was, but the beginnings were definitely innocent. If that's a word you can use to describe the doings of Captain Jack Sparrow.**  
  
**I was green back then, believe it or not. Green as bilge water. Been at sea for years, and many of them as Captain, but you see, this was before all my trouble with the bastard Barbossa, and looking back I get to wondering if I could've been any more naive if I tried.  
  
The problem is, the winds can turn on a man at any time, be he Captain or slave. It's like the see ain't it - she'll have anyone, seadog or lubber - they all taste the same to her in the end. If she wants to claim you - then she's a bloody siren ain't she? She'll tempt you forth with blue skies and good winds, but before you know it all hell's broken loose and you're hanging from the fore topsail yardarm by your fingernails, thinking that you may have made the wrong decision somewhere along the line.  
  
Course I never understood any of this really, until the day I watched my ship sail away, leaving me nothing but a man on a beach. Suddenly it meant nothing to anyone, whether I was a Captain or a Cabin boy.  
  
But this was all before then, and I was happy as Larry. I had a ship, a crew - friends that I trusted.   
  
Rum enough for today, and who need think of tomorrow?  
  
So the day in question, we've put into port - Kingston as it happens. Now Kingston isn't as big as Port Royal, and it's the best place to be when you have the misfortune of landing yourself in Jamaica. It's not as _respectable_ see - still too law abiding for my liking though, I mean, it's no Tortuga. But it's a big port for slaving, and that inevitably fills the place with the kind of people that are just this side of legal.   
My kind of people then.  
  
Well most of the men had gone off to the Inns or the brothels. Me - I had a bottle of rum in my hand, and wasn't interested in the brothels. Now don't be calling my manhood into question here - I just like to think that Old Jack can get a woman into bed on the strength of his charm alone.   
  
My first mate, Barbossa, had gone off drinking and whoring with the men, while old Bootstrap had offered to come a-wondering with me. Now, not that I didn't enjoy Bill's company, but I sometimes get to thinking that spending every minute of every day in the company of 50 or so other men ain't good for me. So when I came ashore, back in those days, I always enjoyed a little time by myself.  
  
So I go strolling through the port right, and along the way I pick up a few stragglers - a couple of dogs, two kids and a donkey. Dogs'll follow anyone, I seem to have that affect on grubby young lads, and donkeys are just malicious - they know I don't like them so they follow along behind me just to give me the willies.  
  
Well out of the town the dogs had lost interest and I'd scared the lads away with a few well timed Aarrrghh!'s , but the bleeding donkey wouldn't take the hint!  
  
When I stopped and turned around, so would the creature, and there I am playing a game of bloody grandmother's footsteps with the mangey beast!  
  
I _hate_ donkeys.  
  
After a few miles I turned round and confronted it. I hated having my back to it - I could feel it's mean little eyes boring into me with it's evil glare.  
  
What you looking at? I ask.  
The donkey brays in answer, but it sounds too much like a laugh for my liking.  
  
So I keep walking right, and come up to this little brook. Pretty little place it is, a grassy bank with a white-washed church perched atop it like it's just been balanced there by the hand of God. It's the kind of place that has it's own personal beam of light, constantly shining down on it no matter the weather.  
  
So the donkey eyes me up in a calculating fashion. I take out my cutlas and run at it screaming. Well, it worked with the grubby kids following me.   
  
But instead of running away like any normal God-fearing animal would, this bloody beasts rushes me! Yes - it runs at me!   
  
I turned tail and ran away, like a girl.  
But in my struggle to switch tack and run _up_ the slope instead of down, off comes my hat, tumbling away from me.  
  
Well, it was a sort of every man for himself' moment there, with the donkey running me down, so I admit I paid little thought to my treacherous hat.  
  
When I reached the church, I turned around to gloat at the donkey, sure that it would have given up it's chase by now.   
  
But of course the evil things still coming at me, my hat in it's mouth like a trophy.  
  
We stopped and stared each other down for a moment, man to donkey. He had my hat, and I wasn't about to let him chew it to pieces. Apart from my deep emotional bond with my hat, it's a matter of principle ain't it? First my hat, and then what next? Give them an inch and they'll take a mile.  
  
So we're standing there for fully five or six minutes, getting our breath back and wondering who's going to make the first move.  
  
Slowly, I took out my pistol.  
You know what this is don't you? I asked in what I hoped was a threatening tone.  
The donkey just stared malevolently.   
Obviously it didn't.  
  
But Captain Jack Sparrow isn't that easily beaten. No - in a staring match there ain't many souls that can beat me.  
  
Without warning the donkey turned and lolloped off around the side of the church, my hat still held captive in it's slobbering mouth. So of course I gave chase.   
  
3 times round the church we went, me cursing and screaming and the donkey braying it's laughter.  
  
On the third time round, the donkey stops abruptly, and me, right on it's tale, literally, I run straight into it and collapse in a wheezing pile on the floor.  
  
The donkey looks over towards the church door, and I follow it's gaze. To find the Priest and the entire congregation staring at me in horror.  
  
I picked myself up, trying to recover a little dignity - luckily I have that by the bucket load so it ain't hard to regain.  
  
The good people of Kingston stare at me in silence.  
  
Then someone screams   
  
Honestly.  
  
Now now.. says the Priest, trying to control the mounting hysteria.  
  
3 times round the church! Anti-clockwise too! Ee's trying to consort wiv the Devil he is! screamed one.  
  
Yeah! That donkey's is fam...fami-  
offered another.  
Yeah! That's the one! Is fam-il-iar!  
  
Bloody Hell! says I, which set them all to gasping and in hindsight probably wasn't the best thing to say, considering the circumstances.  
  
If I was to have a familiar, do you honestly think it would be a donkey? I said grumpily.  
  
Shut it! You're a witch!  
Witch! Witch! Burn im! He's a witch! screamed a sallow faced woman, jumping up and down in excitement.  
  
chorused the rest.  
  
I said.  
  
Wizard. Or warlock. A witch is a woman ain't it. I said helpfully.  
  
The donkey laughed at me.  
  
Eee just admitted it! He's a witch...Wizard! screamed Sallow face.  
Burn him! yelled another.  
3 times round the church! offered another feebly.  
  
Quiet please! Quiet! said the priest loudly. Yes, 3 times round the church, especially doing so with an animal, is suspicious. But to truly convict this man more proof is needed, I am afraid. What makes you think he is a witch?  
  
He looks like one! screamed a little old lady who's face almost entirely consisted of warts. She obviously didn't see the irony, as her bulbous warty nose was in the way.  
  
Now hold your bleeding horses! I protested as the mob moved closer.  
  
He turned me into a newt! shrieked one lad. We all turned to look at him.  
......I got better....? he offered.  
  
We could throw him in the river - if he floats then the Devil's looking out for him right? said one man helpfully.  
  
And if he don't?! I ask  
  
Well, if you don't, you'll meet a good Christian death - how's that?   
I said. Just wonderful!  
  
I managed to grab my hat before the mob closed in on me and lifted me above their heads. I dished out a few black eyes along the way, but there's no stopping an angry puritanical mob when they've set their mind to something.  
  
**TBC....  
  
Not the best I've ever written, but I do have tonsillitis so go easy on me eh? Chapters may come along a little slower than before, as the computer is out in my Dad's studio, and I'd forgotten how cold it gets in the winter - within about 5 minutes my right hand is frozen solid.  
  
Also, the 3 times round the church thing? I'm sure I read that somewhere when I was doing a project on witchcraft for my welsh class. If you went round 3 times the Devil supposedly appeared, or some such.  
Don't try this at home kids.**


	2. Witchfinder General

** Liberty, Equality. Fraternity -by Cunien  
  
Disclaimer - I'm too overcome to say anything more than this isn't mine, though I own all original characters, ships, objects and Viggo Mortensen's autograph.  
  
Chapter 2- Witchfinder General   
  
**So there I am, being carried along by the congregation, manhandling me in all sorts of places. Not that I'm usually one to complain about being manhandled. Being womanhandled is even better, but beggars can't be choosers.   
  
Cept this wasn't handling in a nice way, this was the sort of easy on the goods please!' sort of handling. It was a bumpy ride too, with some of the crowd nearly falling over in the excitement of it all.  
  
Anyway, they carried me down the little hill, towards the river, and from my vantage point above their heads I could see the damned donkey trotting along behind. I shook my fist and swore at him, but he just brayed his laughter.  
  
It's a sorry, sorry state when a man get's laughed at by a donkey.  
  
But before I could say Bob's your uncle' let alone Fanny's your aunt', I'm tumbling through the air! I landed with more a than a little painful thud in the river.  
  
I use the term river' loosely.   
This was more of a brook'.   
Maybe a streamlet'.   
More probably a bloody trickle.  
  
How they expected me to float or sink in this half a foot of water I don't know. I sat there spluttering for a moment, my trousers getting very wet. The congregation looked at me expectantly.  
  
Oh all right! I huffed, taking off my hat and throwing it onto the bank before plunging head first into the water and making a show of drowning.  
  
I coughed, splashing around, taking massive gasps and spraying the water everywhere. I've always been one for amateur dramatics me. I should have been an actor.  
  
said one of the crowd, 'Ee's definitely not floating....  
Oh definitely not! I said, stopping squirming around in the water for a moment to catch my breath.  
said the sallow faced woman dubiously.  
Are you sure you're not _pretending _to drown? asked one cautiously, to the murmured agreement of one or two others.  
  
says I, taking a breath and ducking my head back in the water.  
  
When I came back up for air, spitting water everywhere and trying to get as much of it on the congregation as I could, the priest was trying to shepherd his flock away.  
  
he said, obviously relieved.   
But the crowd didn't look at all satisfied.  
I don't know... said one man dubiously, rubbing his chin.  
  
Maybe I can be of help. came a voice from behind the mob. It was the kind of authoritative voice that people can't resist obeying. It was a familiar voice.  
  
The crowd parted to let a figure through. I wiped the mud and weed out of my eyes and sat up.  
  
Ello Gabriel! I coughed with forced cheeriness.   
  
Gabriel Jones. Like many of my acquaintances, Gabriel isn't the kind of man you get on the wrong side of. And if you do, you get out of there sharpish and pray to the Powers That Be that your paths will never cross again.  
  
Cept of course, like many of my acquaintances, I _did_ get on the wrong side of Gabriel Jones. And the Powers must not have been paying attention because here we were, face to face once again.  
  
I picked a frog out of my hair and hoped to God that Gabriel didn't remember that last year the _Pearl _ had sunk a convoy of his ships on the way out of his plantations in Cuba.  
  
But, realistically? It's not the kind of thing you forget quickly.  
  
Well it _had_ been an accident! Some of those ships were carrying rum! Don't you think it broke my little heart to see it spilling out into the ocean like that when we breached her hull?? Of course, that was just one ship, and when I realised their precious loads were sugarloaves and _rum_, I made sure we took the ships intact.   
And relieved them of their cargoes.  
  
It was only afterwards, staring through a drunken haze at the G.J' branded onto the side of the rum crates, that it dawned on me that we'd just nicked 4 ships worth of rum and sugar from one of the most ruthless, well connected merchants come buccaneers in the Spanish Main.  
  
Probably not the wisest thing I've ever done.  
But then there _was _rum.  
And who's every said Jack Sparrow's a wise man?  
  
Ooo're you? asked one of the crowd  
Gabriel Jones. he said, A humble Jamaican trader and merchant, though late of England.  
The mob looked unimpressed.  
  
What makes you think you can be of help then eh? asked a voice from the back of the congregation. Why's you so special?  
  
said Gabriel, smiling at me in a way that said he had an excellent memory, My father was Matthew Jones - he paused for dramatic effect -Witchfinder General.  
  
Gabriel got the response he wanted - the crowd oohed and aahhed, gasping in awe. The whole lot of them had suddenly gone medieval. If Gabriel's father was a Witchfinder General, which I very much doubted, they seemed to think his special powers would have been passed to his son, and Gabriel could have the final say-so on my fate.  
  
Well ain't this a tight-spot?, I hear you say. Indeed it is. Unlucky, you might say, that Gabriel would come along at exactly that moment, and be able to take advantage of my unhappy circumstances.  
  
But the thing is, I've had one up on fate more than a few times. I've had some incredibly good luck in my time. Sometimes you're up and sometimes you're down, but that's life eh?  
  
Still doesn't stop it being bloody unfair though!  
  
The mob looked expectantly at Gabriel. He narrowed his eyes and looked at me. He paced around a bit - I sat there dripping as he surveyed me from every angle, making a good show of things.  
  
he said, before nodding authoritatively.   
he concurred.  
  
The villagers waded into the stream and hauled me out none too gently.  
  
Now hang about eh?! says I. This man ain't a Witchfinder General! He's a pirate! A buccaneer! A scallywag - you know?! Now...now wait..hey! I yelled as a little lad ran up and whacked me with a stick.  
  
I'll bloody -! I said, making to run after the boy. But the villagers grabbed hold of me, and before I know it there's a whole gaggle of kids hitting me with sticks and kicking me. Dirty little beggars.  
  
One of them had my hat on, so I swiped it from him and clutched it tightly to my chest.  
We'll take him to my ship. said Gabriel's voice over the commotion. The crowd started prodding me back towards the port.  
  
I had two last chances - I could either try and make a dash for it on the way to town. After all, it was a few miles back to Kingston proper, and the villagers would surely lose interest by then. All I needed was for them to get a little off guard and I could run.  
  
Either that or one of my faithful crew would see me on the way through the town and come to my rescue.  
  
But the mob didn't get bored - Gabriel Jones made sure of that. I could hear him at the front, leading the procession. He kept going on about how he was sure lots of strange things must have been happening to the villagers in the past few weeks - they were quick to agree that yes, their crops had been rather on the brown side, and their cows looking a little peaky recently. A few said they'd seen me skulking about the village, and one old hag of a woman even claimed I'd tried to steal her maidenhood' and deflower her. Hah!  
  
All the while I was protesting that I'd only put into port that morning and that Gabriel wasn't to be trusted. But of course, no one wanted to listen. They were having too much fun.  
  
As we neared the dock I stopped protesting and tried a different tack - I screamed my little lungs out for Bootstrap, even Barbossa to come and defend their captain.   
  
On the way past a tavern, I'm sure I saw my First Mate sitting outside. He laughed and raised his tankard to me as I passed.   
Suppose it must have been someone else.  
  
So there I am, being pushed and prodded, until we stop beside the harbour. I looked up in awe at the massive three masted square-rigged merchant ship towering above us.  
  
The_ Providence.  
_She really was a beautiful ship - low in the water. Which meant she was full to the gunnels with something.  
  
My fear was replaced with curiosity the strength of which only a pirate can summon. I longed to have a poke around inside her, find out what she was carrying.   
  
As it happens, my wish came true.  
  
The mob threw me on board the ship, and then stood around wondering what to do with themselves. Gabriel Jones stood on the gunwales and said in his loud, carrying voice - Thankyou! This Devil-worshiper will be brought to trial in New Providence. Do not fear - he will hang!  
  
The people let out a ragged cheer, seemingly a little put out that I wouldn't be burnt at the stake.  
  
I was left face to face with Gabriel Jones.  
  
Now mate.. says I, smiling in a friendly sort of way, Let's not do anything rash eh? I'm sure we can sit down and sort this all out like gentlemen of fortune and no one need-  
  
Jack Sparrow. he said, looking down his nose at me in a well well well, what have we here?' sort of way.  
  
I pointed out, helpful as ever. _Captain _Jack Sparrow...   
Gabriel stared coldly at me as though I were a bit of shit on his boot.  
  
Or not - Jack Sparrow will do between friends eh?I said nervously.  
  
I don't suppose you're pathetic little mind could even comprehend the amount of money you lost me when you took my ships. he stated.  
  
Probably not. I agreed, But I've never been one to hold a grudge- let bygones be bygones eh!? _  
_  
he said. Without a word he turned and leapt back onto the dock, and I was left to feel the unmistakable sensation of two ruffians beating me to a pulp before dragging me down and locking me in the hold.  
  
  
**TBC.....  
  
Poor Jack always seems to get the fuzzy end of the lollipop eh? But the way he sees it, at least he's _got_ a lollipop.  
  
Thanks to Rat, the fastest reviewer in the west, and her X-ray computer of doom. **


	3. The Great Escape

******Liberty, Equality. Fraternity -by Cunien  
  
You'll have to forgive me - I am sooo sorry that I haven't updated for ages! Firstly, my computer went kaput and random things vanished, like my lovely new well written chapter 3. I also just realised that chapter 2 has gone walkies, and as the gale force winds we have here at the mo have made the phone lines go funny, I'm finding it hard to get online to find the previous chapter - *therefore*, I am a little in the dark while writing this.  
Secondly - I have been working full time flat out and don't get much time at all to do anything at all. I have no life.  
And thirdly - what little time I have had was spent either trying to scrape together a portfolio so I can dazzle potential future tutors with my amazing animation skills so they'll let me into Uni, or writing a LotR fic that I've had in mind for ages.  
  
There you go.  
  
Do you forgive me then? Do I have to pull a sad puppy-dog face? Or do a little dance for you?  
  
Also I beg forgiveness for any mistakes - grammar, spelling or otherwise - believe it or not I did get my A-level in english (Oy! - don't laugh)   
  
Warning: Maybe some mild cockney swearing, and violence too - Jack thinks nothing of it, so don't trouble yourself over it. He's like a cartoon character - he just bounces right back!  
  
Chapter 3 - The Great Escape.  
  
**Down in the hold I sat staring at the barrels in front of me, while nursing my wounds and my very bloody nose. I've come to the conclusion that my nose must be made of steel, as I've only broken it once, despite being beaten up more times than I can count.  
  
I was a bleedin state. Even my bruises had bruises.  
  
But there's nothing like a little time to yourself to get the old mind working, and I've found a cell is the best place to think.   
  
Within an hour I'd come up with 32 fabulous escape plans. I was especially fond of numbers 3 and 27.  
  
In the end I just picked the lock with one of the trinkets in me hair. Not just a pretty face see? I couldn't remember where I'd picked this particular accessory up, or why I'd put it in my hair, but I must have had a good reason at the time.   
  
Well, either that or it was one of the bits and bobs that's got tangled up in there over the years. You'd be astonished at what I've found in my hair, but no more than me - and I'm not one to be surprised at much. You could have blown me down with a feather one night when I lay down and felt what turned out to be a fork digging into my neck.  
  
So this method of escape may not have been as glamorous as the other 32, but it did the job, good and proper.  
  
Anyway, by the time I was reunited with my crew I'd have even myself convinced that I'd scraped through the hull with my fingernails, run through at least 20 of Gabriel's crew in an elaborately choreographed skirmish, before swinging on the rigging to freedom.  
  
So this cell door goes swinging open, right, and I hobble out, on account of my war-wounds, only to trip, hop around a little bit as I try to find a foothold, and crash to the floor.  
  
After checking that my nose wasn't spread across my face, because it most definitely felt like it, I got up to glare at the offending object. I'd caught my foot on the corner of a pallet - one of many in the hold. Each pallet had 4 or so barrels, branded with the letters G.J', strapped securely to it. They were only the barrels I'd been staring at for over an hour, but somehow I'd managed to forget them in my eagerness to limp away.  
  
I'd seen these barrels before. I wondered for a moment what might be in them. And suddenly! - wait!   
  
Something, about sugar?   
About why I was in this hold to begin with? About a convoy of ships? Gabriel's ships, carrying......?  
  
I'm ashamed to say that it took me about a minute to work it out, but when the realisation came it was as sweet as the rum inside the barrels.  
  
So, there I am.   
In a hold.   
Alone - no, not alone. With rum.   
So I sit down to have a little tipple, you know, wet the old whistle.  
  
Well, it's rum ain't it? Did you expect me to think rationally?  
  
And d' you know? You'd be surprised how much rum a man can get through when he sets his mind to it.  
  
I've never been one to dwell on trivialities, such as - is it wise to point and laugh at that Naval officer's wig? What will be the consequences of me abducting the beautiful daughter of the Governor of Martinique? Or, who owns this rum?   
  
The next morning I woke up to a sharp slap round the face.  
  
The walls of the hold were moving anyway, as they're wont to do when a man's drunk more than his body weight in the Caribbean's finest rum - but even so I could tell that we weren't in Kinsgton harbour anymore. If you've spent as much time on the sea as I have, you begin to _feel_ the difference between a docked ship and one that's sailing. It's like the difference between asleep and awake.  
  
Sometime in the night I'd pulled a few coils of rope around myself and snuggled up to sleep. I'm surprised Gabriel's men had come down to pay me a little visit earlier, as I vaguely remember singing my little lungs out at one point, making a devil of a noise. They must have thought I was insane!  
  
Gabriel wasn't best pleased when he found out how much rum I'd taken off his hands.   
Again.  
  
Well, really, he put me in a hold with a shoddy lock and a hundred barrels of rum - if I can harness sea turtles and ride them to freedom, escaping a cell like his was always going to be a doddle - cause I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, luv. What did he expect?  
  
I tried to tell him this, but the only thing he could think of to say was , before kicking me in the head.   
  
Always had a way with words did Gabriel.  
  
I came to as they dumped me on the deck, and immediately wished I hadn't. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't pass out again, even though I went about slamming my head on the deck a few times. Well, it was going to happen anyway - I'd much rather do it to myself than let Gabriel's men have the pleasure.  
  
Gabriel stared down at me like he had a nasty taste in his mouth.  
  
I gave up with head butting the deck and hoping for unconsciousness and looked up at Gabriel, a look of surprise on my face.  
  
Oh says I Lovely morning eh? Nice stiff breeze - see you've got all the sails out - must be in a hurry - don't tell me - north-west - Cayman Islands? - Lovely this time of year.  
  
He kept staring at me, as though I was too insignificant to answer.  
  
No? Cuba?   
  
New Providence. he said after a while. Nassau, to be more precise.  
  
Oh yes, yes, Nassau! Wonderful!......That's where you'll be letting me off, then?  
  
Gabriel laughed.   
  
There are only 3 men I know who can laugh like that - Barbossa, Commodore Norrington, and Gabriel Jones. It's the type of laugh that makes you cold just to hear it, leaving you with no doubt that the laugher knows something you don't. Something that you'll find out, soon enough.   
But you won't find it funny.  
  
In a manner of speaking. he said.  
  
**TBC.....  
  
Sorry it's so short - there will be more (hopefully) as soon as possible, so this is just a taster to stop you from abandoning this story, and to prove I haven't been carried off by evil pirates, thus explaining my lack of updates.  
  
For the sake of this story, there are sugar plantations on New Providence - it probably wasn't even called that back in the 18th century, but there we go.  
  
You may be thinking - if Jack can pick a lock with a trinket in his hair, why didn't he do so when he was imprisoned in Port Royal, in the movie? Well, firstly, the lock on Gabriel's cell was, according to Jack, shoddy. And also, I don't think Jack would remember his name if he didn't have a sparrow tattooed on his arm. Recalling how he escaped that cell, at the opportune moment, is beyond him. Besides, like he said, he had even himself convinced that he'd swashbuckled guards and the like. And when you've been imprisoned as many times as Jack, they all merge into one.  
  
And finally- HAPPY NEW YEAR!**


	4. Fun and Games

**Liberty, Equality. Fraternity -by Cunien  
  
Hello people! Long time no see! If you have a spare moment or two, check out my livejournal at   
for updates, or this spiffing PotC fic challenge and reccs communtiy that we've Maybe some mild cockney swearing, and violence too - Jack thinks nothing of it, so don't trouble yourself over it. He's like a cartoon character - he just bounces right back!  
  
WARNING!: Yesterday I had an epiphany while hoovering at work - and before we get stuck in I want to warn people that this story *may* deal with some pretty heavy themes - racism, violence, torture - you know the drill.   
*BUT*, Jack is not one to make a big deal over things, so I'm going to try and write it in his normal, rather blase' style, although it should be obvious to us that Jack really is rather messed up by the whole affair.   
So if it get's too much, I might up the rating, or put a secondary theme of angst' in there, but never fear, this is still primarily a humour' fic. If it fails at this, let it be because I'm a rubbish writer with a poor sense of humour, rather than because it's too serious and sad. *END OF WARNING* Alright people, go about your business.  
Chapter 4- Fun and games.  
  
**Smug git.  
  
That's one thing I hate in a man, something I can't abide - smugness. Of course, it's alright when I'm the man in question, but on anyone else it's just wrong, like another man wearing my hat.  
  
Gabriel Jones ordered various members of the crew, I suspect those with the most violent dispositions, to tie me to the mast. He claimed I'd do more damage, intentional or otherwise if I wasn't properly restrained'.  
  
After a while he made them gag me too.   
  
At sunset they untied me and prodded me once round the deck, let me have a drink (water), and see to my business.   
  
Then they roughed me up a bit and tied me back to the mast.  
  
That night a storm came in, and guess who got a first class view of the whole thing? I slept a bit when the rain stopped, but was so bloody soaked and cold, and kept having nightmares about my whole body puckering like your fingers when you've been too long in the water.  
  
The next day was, I'm sure, one of the hottest that's ever been. Since the beginning of time. And just because it was _very_ amusing, they took my hat and my shirt. And made me stand there all day in the baking heat.  
  
Now if you're a newcomer to my little fireside tales, you may be suprised at this, but Jack Sparrow and the sun aren't the best of friends. Well, it's all fun and games when you have something to protect your head, or when you can nip into the shade to cool down every half hour or so.  
  
But when you're tied to the mast on the hottest day of summer with a barehead - well, that ain't natural for anyone.  
  
And as they were playing at jesters that day, they didn't give me any water, no matter how long I begged. Well, a man has his pride, but I'm sorry luv - if it's a toss up between being proud or breathing, I'll take the latter and scarper thankyou very much. Reputations can be rebuilt, but as far as I know anyhow, there ain't no way to come back once you've shuffled off this mortal coil.  
  
And I'm rather taken with this living' lark.  
  
Dear God that was one of the longest days of my life.   
  
But I came out the winner, didn't I? Eh? Cos I'm still here, alive and kicking, to tell you this tale. Whereas last thing I heard they was all dead, or bound for the gallows at least.  
  
Anyway, around sunset that evening, the bo'sun, wearing a rather fetching flowered bonnet with pink ostrich feathers came to untie me.  
  
To be quite honest, I can't be a hundred percent sure he was actually wearing a flowered bonnet with pink ostrich feathers, as I'd been standing in the sun for quite a while, and that has been known to play silly-buggers with a man's head.  
  
But I admired his hat anyway, and told him it brought out the colour in his eyes. He looked at me funny and then punched me in the face.  
  
Come to think of it that was probably quite a clear sign that he wasn't wearing the hat in question.  
  
So this fellow unties me and I go sagging like I haven't a bone in my body, which is rather embarassing as you can imagine. I take some pleasure in the fact that I was all elbows and knees, and the ruffian had to carry me. And my elbows and knees might have connected with a few rather delicate areas of his on more than one occasion. Completely by accident, of course.  
  
Anyway, there was this commotion on deck and Gabriel appeared, looking very pleased with himself. He stood on the gunnels and surveyed the approaching Nassau Port like a conquering hero, returning with the spoils of war.   
  
Nice to be home, eh? I croaked.   
  
He made like he hadn't heard me, but I could tell by the little twitch around his eyes that he had. A lot of people try to ignore me. So much so that I've become accustomed to the signs that say they did actually here me and are just playing.   
  
And I've also become a dab-hand at getting people who are trying to ignore me to crack, and shout, or laugh, or acknowledge me in some way, even if that way is a swift kick to the stomach.  
  
Normally I just annoy them so much that they give in. I'm good at that, me.  
  
But this time, as things were going, I didn't feel like pushing my luck.  
  
So I let the Ruffian manhandle me off the boat when we came into port. At first he tried to carry me, and then gave in, and half supported, half lifted me along. Then he just grabbed hold of my arms and dragged. I let myself be pulled along, enjoying the scenery and digging in my heels every here and there, because obviously, my legs weren't yet my own again. And it made life a little harder for the Ruffian.  
  
He huffed and puffed, and seemed well pleased to be shot of me when he let go of my arms and let me fall to the ground. From my vantage point of flat on my back, I could see the curling orange clouds of evening, and the stars beginning to peep out. Over to my right a palm frond or two poked it's way into my line of sight, but other than that the night was clear.  
  
Until Gabriel appeared, looming over me. I jumped and swore, because having _him_ appear out of nowhere above you is not a sight you relish.  
  
He smiled grimly, and his ruffians half kicked, half rolled me through a doorway and into a small one-roomed building.   
  
In truth, I'd had control of my legs again for some time, but really, when it comes to walking somewhere or getting a free ride, I know which one I'd choose. Even if you're arms do feel like they've been half pulled out of their sockets by the end.  
  
But then I wished I hadn't played around, because when it comes to walking into a building or getting kicked in, I know which one I'd choose.  
  
The building had stone walls almost a meter thick, and a hefty iron grid as a roof. There was nothing in it, except a wooden block propped against the wall and a little half rotten straw on the floor, stained with dark patches that I didn't like the look of at all. They looked liquid black in the evening light, but the tangey coppery smell in the air gave them away.   
  
I shivered. When you walk in to a room that smells of blood you just know there's going to be fun and high-jinks ahead don't you?  
  
They kicked me in and grabbed my hair to make me kneel in front of them, while another went and hefted the big wooden block I'd seen against the wall.  
  
Oh this just got better and better.  
  
The block turned out to be some horrible sort of stocks thing.  
  
I said as I tried to scrabble away from them, Do you really think I merit such precautions?!  
  
They didn't answer.  
  
I'm naught but a humble pirate! I pleaded, Thick as two short planks, me! This room with meter thick stone walls and cast iron door is quite enough!  
  
It's at a time like this when having a reputation like mine is a disadvantage. Now, if I was any old man, they wouldn't be doing this.   
  
But instead I had to be me.   
I mean, of all the bleeding people in the world, I had to be Captain Jack Sparrow, didn't I? Just my bloody luck.  
  
Who vanished from under the eyes of seven agents of the East India Company.  
Who continues to defy death and achieve the impossible.   
  
Who generally sticks two fingers up at danger, nicks it's purse, kicks it in the privates and sails off into the horizon with it's wife.  
  
So me being the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow, they put the stocks on my shoulders, behind my neck, and lifted my arms to clamp them in the tight iron cuffs secured to either end.  
  
They hauled me to me feet, and I felt like I was being bloody crucified.  
  
Now I've never been one to observe the rules of a fair fight, and if you want proof just ask William Turner. But I do have morals, even if they are slightly skewed, normally in my favour.  
  
Because there is nothing moral or fair about locking someone's arms to a heavy wooden stocks, and then taking turns to punch him in the stomach until he falls over.  
  
After a while they got tired and left me in the little cell by myself, where I let my blood join the sticky stains on the floor.  
  
**TBC...  
  
Eww Jack. Poor schnoockums. Sorry about nor posting for ages. Please don't lose patience with this tale. There's a lot to tell, and Jack isn't nearly ready to shut up yet.  
x.x.x**


	5. Fields of Gold

**Liberty, Equality. Fraternity -by Cunien  
  
Right, I'm starting this now, before I've even posted the last chapter on fanfiction.net, in the vain hope the momentum will keep me going all the way through chapter 5! I haven't posted here yet as the site was messing me around last night and wouldn't even let me sign in, but I have posted on my livejournal. In future, I will most likely post there first, even if it's a couple of hours ahead of ff.net. It won't be more than a day or so ahead though, so don't worry if you don't fancy nipping over to check it out at my livejournal!  
  
Anyway, I again beg forgiveness and hope that you won't desert me and Jack through our trials and tribulations. Thanks for reviewers that I haven't thanked for the past two chapters also.  
  
Warning: Maybe some mild cockney swearing, and violence too - Jack thinks nothing of it, so don't trouble yourself over it. He's like a cartoon character - he just bounces right back!  
  
Haven't done a disclaimer in a while, so here goes -   
Things That I Would Be If I Owned PotC: 1. Rich.  
  
Chapter 5 - Fields of Gold.  
**  
Through the night, the stocks seemed to increase ten times in weight, until I felt like I was being folded neatly in half. I couldn't stand with my little friend on my shoulders. I couldn't kneel, and if I sat or lay down I would never be able to haul myself up again.   
  
So I squatted on my heels and felt miserable as the weight of the stocks pushed my shoulders down further and further. By morning my squat had folded into a kneel, my head and shoulders pinned to the floor and my arse in the air.  
  
Even I admit this must have been a funny sight to the men that came to get me just before sunrise. So I summed up the energy to laugh good naturedly along with them as they hefted me upright, none too ceremoniously.  
  
The men got me the right way round, and I fell over a few times, just for good measure, and because I was feeling a little light headed to be honest. Then they took off the stocks, oh thankyou God, and left me there for half an hour to collect meself. I could hear them sitting outside the locked door, drinking rum and making lewd jokes that weren't very funny really. Honestly, my dear old mum could have taught them a thing or two about the meaning of rude, I can tell you.  
  
After not nearly long enough, I hear the keys go click in the lock, and the doors open once more. I was expecting to see Gabriel Jones, and honestly it would've been only polite for him to pay me a little visit, seeming as I was there at his bequest and all. But no, it was only the same ruffians as before, which annoyed me no end.   
  
Don't get me wrong - going on my experience so far, time alone with Gabriel Jones was never to my benefit, but for some reason the thought that he'd already forgotten me didn't sit too well.   
  
But these men didn't seem to care that I thought I should have been treated a little more important like. They hauled me up, which was a bit of a waste of time, because they went on to push me out the door and flat on my face once again.  
  
They found this very amusing of course.  
Ha ha...' I laughed along with them, as it seemed the wisest thing to do at that moment, Give us a hand up boys?' I asked, reaching up towards them.  
One of them looked at my hand with distaste, as though he might catch a disease from touching me. Well, it didn't seem to bother them last night when they were getting my blood sprayed all over their faces did it?!  
  
Instead he wrapped a hand around my hair and tugged hair enough to pull it out, and suddenly I found untapped reserves of strength and decided I didn't need any help getting up after all, thankyou very much.  
  
Silly bugger. He was more likely to find something un-savoury in my hair than on my hand. I prayed that that fork was still in there, or any other pointy objects likely to cause harm to anyone foolish enough to stick their hand in.  
  
Now you may think that I'm a bit of a girl's blouse eh? To let them have their sport with me and not fight back. Well I'll tell you, Jack Sparrow ain't no pansy. When it comes to a fight I'll take on anyone and no mistake. But there's no point in starting something you ain't going to finish. Or come out of alive for that matter. Wait for the opportune moment, says I, and escape with all your limbs attached and useable.  
  
Plus there's always that English pride. Stiff upper lip and all.  
  
I let them march me off, let them try and trip my legs from under me a few times.   
  
I said I let them _try. _   
  
Meaning I didn't punch their lights out. I did however, do a little skip, a little dance, and managed to avoid their poorly aimed kicks enough times for them to get bored.  
  
So there we are, marching along at a fair pace, uphill towards some sort of complex of buildings and fields that stretched up towards the forested mountains. The main building was huge, and had a large chimney belching out smoke and steam into the clear Caribbean sunrise.  
  
As we near the buildings, I can see streams of people, in and out of the buildings, hurrying around at their business, and it's only then I realise: they're all Africans. All slaves.  
  
In these parts, there are a number of trades for a man of my nature and skills: pirate, privateer, or slaver, amongst many.  
  
The last two make me sick just to think of them. Privateer takes away your dignity and slaver your humanity.  
  
It's not like me and the _Pearl_ haven't been offered the chance. Easy, quick gold. No questions asked. All you have to do is sail to Africa, get drunk off your face and enjoy the local customs of Marrakech or Whydah as you let someone else load up your cargo, then sail back. Easy as pie.   
  
Cept it's not, is it?  
  
Oh no. You don't spend as many years in the Spanish Main as I have and not come out a little wiser for it.  
  
Cos there's these things called morals' right? And they're tricky buggers and all.  
  
One time, we were sitting in this tavern in Tortuga, me and the boys. So we strike up conversation with the fellow sitting near us, and soon enough the conversation turns into drinks all round and there's no stopping us.  
  
He was a normal looking fellow. That's the catch ain't it? Even old Jack, who's known his fair share of knaves and generally evil folk, gets caught out every here and there. You always go on first impressions. Always. That's why I take such care over my appearance ain't it?  
  
You expect evil men to look evil. Like Gabriel. With that glint in their eyes that tell you that they're _ not like you_. And that's when it gets scary, when you just can't figure out the person you're talking to.  
  
But this fellow was as ordinary as any. Just your average pirate it seemed.   
  
Til talk turns to business, as it's wont to amongst men of our profession. And before you know it he's propositioning us - _Take your fine ship there. At Whydah there's call for men like you. Fill your holds with blacks and your pockets with gold, as I always says! And you may take your pick of them. Any thing that catches your eye - boy, girl - whatever takes your fancy!'_  
  
Bootstrap tenses beside me. I can feel his anger, white hot, just like mine.  
The air is like when you're up in the top sails just before a storm, when you can feel the lightning buzzing around you and all your hair stands on end.   
  
Time to leave.  
  
Cept it seems like me and Bootstrap are the only ones that want to stay well away from this business. I may have a lot of things on my hands, but the blood of innocents isn't one of them. There's a line, and once your sailed past it there's no going back. That's the kind of thing as changes a man.  
  
Barbossa and the others weren't of the same mind though, and I argued long and hard through the night to settle them.   
  
Those were amongst the first rumblings, but there were many more to come. More that made me wish, in time, that Bootstrap would let me make him my First Mate instead of that Snake Barbossa. But I didn't and years on I was left sitting on a beach watching the _Pearl _ sail away into the horizon.  
  
But that's another tale entirely, and back to ours.  
  
As we neared the complex and I realised what this was about, I stopped in shock. The ruffians had no thought of letting me pause to take in the sight, and pushed me forward again.  
  
I'm ashamed to say I couldn't stop staring once we neared the main building.   
I've been to Africa before, and not just into the ports where there are more English and Spanish and Portuguese than natives. No, I've been inland, up the rivers once. To places where I was the first white man they've ever seen. In some of those places I don't think I gave a very good impression of my race in general. But again, that's a tale for later.  
  
So this wasn't about seeing so many African people, it was that the people in front of me didn't _look_ like people. Their eyes were blank like dolls, like they were all still asleep or something. I mean, it was early in the morning but that's not what I'm talking about.   
  
It was quite a sight to see. So many people, but so little human emotion. No anger at the way they were being herded like cattle and whipped like dogs. There were Gabriel's men, standing every here and there with cat'o'nine tails and ugly looking knuckle dusters about their hands. Mostly they just shouted, or spat, but sometimes, if a slave stumbled or caught their eye, they'd go at them just to fight the boredom more than anything I think.  
  
But we kept marching, past the building. Carts rumbled by, already loaded high with crops, and I turned around to see them pull up at the buildings, and the slaves hurry to unload them.   
  
Everything here was done at three times the pace of normal life - it was a lot like being on a ship. Everyone had their job to do. Except I don't beat my men to the ground if they looked at me wrong. That's not to say I don't _want_ to, with a few of them on a number of occasions.  
  
Anyway, soon we're up climbing a slope that's tall with cane, and then reaching the top of the little hill, we got to the fields proper. Stretching out as far as I could see was a mass of sugar cane, waving in the slight morning breeze. Every here and there a head poked out above the crop - slaves hard at work.  
  
The fields were planted in long rows, and each of these had a line of slaves working on it. Prowling up and down beside them were Gabriel's men, and to my surprise, a few African overseers cracking whips and shouting orders in a steady rhythm that the slaves worked to.  
  
So my two friends march me up to one of Gabriel's men, and this time I'm caught off guard and don't notice the foot that comes to swipe my legs from under me until it's too late, and I'm smack on my knees on the ground. Bloody hurt too.  
  
The men spoke for some time, with me on the ground kneeling before them in a way that made me blush red hot with anger. But I hold my tongue, and soon enough they've handed me over to the other man without so much as an introduction. He smiles grimly at me and prods me along till we reach a particular row and he shoves me there in between two slaves.  
  
One of them looked up at me for a moment, and I noticed the surprise at seeing a white man like me amongst them. But he hides it well, and goes back to work.   
  
Do as I do. someone whispers, so quiet I might have imagined it, and now it's my turn to be surprised, because his english is good, with only a hint of an accent. By all rights it's probably better than mine.  
  
So I did. I copied the man next to me, and the man next to him, and the woman next to him. In front of us, a row of slaves cut the sticky cane and passed it back. We stripped the leaves and put it in baskets behind us. Soon enough the baskets were full, and another slave, normally a child, would replace the basket before disappearing off down the long winding rows of cane.   
  
The sun rose high, and still we worked. Before I know it it's midday, the heat is unbearable and I'm sticky with sap and feeling like I'd very much like to throw up right now please.   
  
Another day of heat stroke.  
  
I could feel the skin on my face and hands crackle and burn, which is really saying something as I've spent so much time outside there's no part of me that's not brown.  
And I mean _no_ part.  
  
After a few hours, the man next to me grabbed my arm gently and stopped my work, with a careful glance around to check no guards were watching.  
  
No. You do it wrong. Like this. he said, showing me how to strip the leaves from the cane without ripping the skin of the plant and covering myself in sap. It is much easier. he smiled gently, and I thought he might possibly be an gift from God.  
  
Jack. My names Jack. I croaked.  
  
He nodded in greeting.   
  
And then he turned back to his work so fast I thought I may have dreamt the whole thing.  
  
A little after mid day, the people around me started to slow down and the pace stopped. To my unbounding joy, the line of slaves starts to move off, to be replaced by another, and I'm being shuffled along with them.   
  
Once we reached the road, we stopped and were allowed to drink some water and rest for a while. To be honest I was afraid that if I sat down I would never get up again, but I found some shade and rested a while.   
  
Too soon though, we're off again, walking back towards the buildings.  
  
And here the hell really started.   
Because if I thought it was bad outside, then it held nothing on inside the buildings, where the grinders rumbled on, filling the air with a cloying smokey heat.  
  
People came with carts, unloading sugar. We put the sugar in the grinders, at the same time trying very hard not to put our _fingers_ in the grinders. More carts came, and yet more sugar. All day.  
  
To be honest I can't say much more than that, because I sort of...went somewhere else, if you catch my meaning. The heat and the fumes and the toil had set my mind back _somewhere_. Somewhere nightmarish and horrid, but at least far far away from the grinders, and the guards with their machetes ready to sever our arms if they got caught in the machines.  
  
The sun dipped low, and lamps were lit. But still the work went on, the heat was as intense and the light so bad it started getting dangerous. As if it hadn't been before.  
  
And then, through the haze, two figures approached, and something happened that gave me a little strength and hope.  
  
It was Gabriel Jones, and a woman. They were far away, and I couldn't see them all that well, or indeed, have the time to look at them too closely. Not wanting to make too close a friend of a cat'o'nine tails at that particular moment.  
  
They stood and spoke for some time - Gabriel seemed to be explaining to her how everything worked. And then, a shaft of late evening sunlight broke through, and struck the woman. And her hair was red-brown like rum.   
  
And I saw an angel.  
**TBC.....  
  
Hellooooo! Sorry it's a bit of a weird chapter - lots of angst and heat stroke - yum! Sorry again, hang about and we can get to the good stuff soon enough!  
  
Right, I haven't done a Thanks' thing for a while, so here goes :  
  
Simply Sara- First Mate! Nice to see you! Glad you're enjoying Jack's one-liners! Thanks so much for your continuing lurverly reviews!  
  
Rat - See, I didn't leave Jack that way for _too_ long... Thanks for your praise!  
  
ping*pong5 - Yay! A new reviewer! Welcome aboard and I'm glad you're liking it so far!   
  
Jaina Kenobi - Jack _always_ pulls it off! You'll see!  
  
Fidin - declarations of love are always welcomed, as are big starry anime eyes!  
  
Mythical Assassin - I'm going as fast as I can! Well, that's not strictly true... Thanks for your nice review! I shall try and post more often as I'm going away for a few months in April and want to get a lot, if not all of this finished by then. Improbable, not impossible.  
  
Cal - how do you find time to write such wonderful long reviews! They always make me feel so coochy! You make me blush! Thanks so much for your encouragement and lurverly reviews!  
  
Otherhawk - Yay! Another new reviewer! Glad you've come aboard too, especially if you're going to continue with the nice reviews...but I guess that depends on me and Jack eh?  
  
Thanks again to everyone who reviewed! I know it shouldn't be about that, and it isn't only, but it's so nice to know that people are enjoying the tales. You're reviews really help me get my arse in gear and post again, and are so encouraging! I love you guys!x.x.x**


	6. Revelations

** Liberty, Equality. Fraternity -by Cunien  
  
Just a note to say thankyou again for lovely reviewing type people. You are all so nice. Also, just quickly - I don't know if I've explained before, but Jack occasionally jumps around from present to past tense. This _is_ deliberate. Like when you're talking, and you can say and then I said or So I'm like - does that make any sense? I've read stories where it jumps around and it's confusing. But this is most definitely deliberate!  
  
Warning: Maybe some mild cockney swearing, and violence too - Jack thinks nothing of it, so don't trouble yourself over it. He's like a cartoon character - he just bounces right back!  
  
Oh and the song The Goodman' is a traditional english one, which I heard on a cd by the brilliant Kate Rusby. I missed out some of the verses though.  
  
Haven't done a disclaimer in a while, so here goes -   
Things That I Would Be If I Owned PotC: 2. Smug.  
  
Chapter 6- Revelations.  
  
**My head was up there in the clouds with my angel, and therefore, not concentrating particularly hard on the task at hand. I came slamming back to earth as someone shouted my name.  
  
I said, looking back to see who it was, and realising with a jolt that I'd been trying to feed thin air into the grinders for the past few minutes.   
  
My fingers were a breath away from the massive steel jaws. For some reason, and don't ask me how or why, everything became suddenly clear.   
  
I could feel a bead of sweat trickling down my back.   
  
The sickly sweet smell of sugar sap was so strong it burnt the inside of my nose.   
  
The guard's arm tensed on the machete in grim anticipation  
  
Something jerked me backwards, so suddenly I felt like I'd left my stomach behind.  
  
That about finished me off, and I threw up everywhere. In the grinders too.   
  
I made a mental note not to drink any rum derivative of this particular batch.  
  
I remember thinking, God, this lass better be worth it. Because I knew, as clear as day, that somehow this wouldn't be the last time I almost died for or because of this one.  
  
After the initial uprising, so to speak, there wasn't much in my stomach to bring up, so I just sat there heaving for a while, feeling Nathan's hand squeezing my shoulder. It was him who'd pulled me out of harm's way.  
  
Through my daze, a whistle blew, and everyone began to file out of the building. I turned around and let Nathan and another man walk me through the doors.   
  
Gabriel and the Angel had left, thank God. Perhaps she hadn't seen me make a prize fool of myself. Because there's nothing that impresses the ladies quite like a man throwing up all over himself is there?  
  
Outside the Grinding house, the slaves began walking up the hill, and for a horrible moment I thought we were going back to the fields once more. But then, we passed the fields, and I was so happy I could have done a little jig if it weren't for the fact that I could barely walk.  
  
Gabriel's men were walking up the hill too, but they seemed to be accompanying rather than herding us. Right at the top of the slope, we crested the hill to see a village spread out, in front of small fields and paddocks. The guards left us for the night and fairly sprinted down the hill, heading towards the port, where rum and whores were waiting. A few grumbling souls split off from the rest and stopped at little huts at the bottom of the hill, obviously on night watch.  
  
Now, I've spent most of my adult life trying to avoid a number of things, and one of them was the slave trade. Yep, old Jack kept his nose clean on that account. I knew nothing about it, about what happened in the plantations. I drank the rum and tried very hard not to think about where it came from.  
Selfish you may say, but what can one soul like myself do to change something so vast as this? Well, we'll come to that later won't we?  
  
So I was completely caught off guard when I entered the village. Small children, those too young to work all day, ran out of the huts to meet their parents. There were a few cows and sheep in the paddocks, if rather mangey looking ones. Some of the huts open doors shone yellow with the light of cooking fires inside, but I wanted nothing of this. I felt I'd been slow cooked over hot coals all day. Right then I wanted nothing more than to go down to the beach and lie in the lovely, cool, fresh surf.  
  
After the hardships of the day I had half expected the slaves to have been locked in cells at night, but there I was, walking into their own little village.  
Nathan spoke quietly to me as we walked.  
  
This is our village. In the fields we grow vegetables, to eat and to trade with in the sunday market. Sunday is our day of rest. That is where we hold the market. he said, pointed towards a small clearing, bordered on one side by thick forest. In fact, most of the village was on the very edge of the tree-lined slopes.  
  
This is my home. You will stay here with my family. says Nathan.  
  
I moaned, trying very hard to make my mouth open and say Thankyou very much but I'd like to sleep at the bottom of the ocean please. Alas, my entire body wasn't being very co-operative right then, so a small bleat was all I could muster.  
  
The hut was made of mud bricks and wood, exactly like the ones I'd seen on my travels in Africa. There was only one room, but it was cordoned off in one place with brightly coloured curtains. In the middle was a small cooking fire, with a pot boiling stew.  
  
As we walked in a woman looked up and smiled at Nathan, speaking to him in a language I couldn't make head nor tales of. She caught sight of me and gasped, springing up wearily.  
  
It is well, Sarah. He is one of us. Nathan said, in english so as to settle me a little I think.  
  
This is my wife, Sarah. She does not work, for now. We have just been blessed with a daughter. he paused and looked at his wife, Her name is Anne. Nathan said, emphasising the name. Sarah scowled at him and muttered something, but to be honest I was too exhausted to wonder what that was all about.  
  
Nathan and the other man helping me walk lay me gently on a pile of blankets on the floor, like a baby. I tried scowling but to no avail. The other man spoke quietly to Nathan, and then left, while Sarah rummaged around on the other side of the room for something. She handed a small clay pot to her husband, and he crossed over to me and lifted my arm gently. It felt like a bloody dead weight.  
  
This will help you. he said, scooping a dollop of a whitish salve from the pot and spreading it carefully over my hand and arm.  
  
It felt like he was coating my skin in ice, and I shuddered and moaned, but this time in a happy way, because it felt _so_ _good._ I smiled crookedly at Nathan, and he took that as sufficient thanks.   
  
Getting there. I managed.  
  
He picked up my other arm and started there too. By the time he was smoothing it gently over my nose I was barely conscious enough to realise.  
But that was okay.  
  
I dreamt of rolling around in the surf with my angel.  
  
The next day held much of the same - we got up at the break of dawn, which wasn't really a problem because I'm used to that. I sometimes feel sorry for people who sleep in beds, inside. They must never be able to drag themselves out in the morning. It's easy as anything when you're sleeping in a bush, or with your face smashed up against some broken bottles on a bar. A hammocks not to bad, as I got the hang of them almost straight away. The trick is, once you're in, to lie very _very_ still until morning.  
  
But here we were sleeping on the floor, and although my body swore bloody Mary at me for disturbing it, I managed to get up. I felt better. Okay, I felt a _little_ bit better, but when you've felt as bad as I have, a little can make all the difference.  
  
Sarah gave us some stew and water, and made me rub in more of the salve over my arms and face, so as to become acclimatised to the sun. Nathan introduced me briefly to others in his extended family, his brother Samuel and his wife Hannah, and their children....well I can't remember their names. There were about 6 of them after all.  
  
And then, before the sun had even risen we heard shouts outside the hut. Gabriel's men were walking about, along with some of the black Overseers, who shouted in strange languages. It didn't matter that I couldn't understand, because it was as clear as day what they were saying - get out and to the fields or you'll be sorry.  
  
None of us wanted to be sorry.   
We got out of their sharpish. But before the village was out of sight behind the ridge, I turned around to get a good look, and was surprised that I hadn't noticed last night quite how _big_ it was. It was the size of a town, perhaps even a city, but those words seem to imply prosperity, so it could only really be called a village.  
  
I asked quietly, trying not to draw any attention to myself (and that's the first time that can be said about Captain Jack Sparrow), How many slaves are in New Providence?  
  
Many. Thousands. Our Master owns all the slaves and the only plantations on the island, but they are all on this side. Half of the island is un-inhabited.  
  
And how many white men are there here? I asks.  
  
Including you? he smiles. There are maybe five hundred in Nassau Port. Perhaps one hundred here in the plantation. Maybe less.  
  
I stopped dead in my tracks, until one of Gabriel's men cracked his cat-o-nine tails a little too close for comfort, and I shuffled on again.  
  
Only a hundred?! I whispered, more to myself than anything.  
  
Well that was interesting. Very interesting.  
  
With the proper amount of wit and cunning, a dash of guile and a smidgen of wiliness, it _is_ in fact, possible for a single man to come up against a hundred men and walk away unscathed.   
Honest.  
  
And this is when the thoughts of escape really began to gather in my mind.  
Which is why I did what I did later that day. But I'm getting ahead. Again.  
  
This time in the fields, Nathan and I were given scythes to cut the cane.  
  
Now this may seem like a mistake to you and I eh? Giving poor desperate souls like myself a very long pointed object like a scythe. I mean, you don't see the Grim Reaper going about his business with butter knife do you? No, there's something very wicked about a scythe.   
  
But wait for the opportune moment says I, instead of blowing all my chances in my eagerness.  
  
While we worked, some of the Africans began to sing, a deep rhythmic chant that we worked to. Nathan turned to me and said, I will sing you a song from my tribe, the Olinka. He looked very sad when he began to sing - just for a moment it flashed across his face, but then I think he must have been ashamed, because as suddenly as it appeared it was gone.  
  
The song was a happy one, and a good one to work to. Some of the others joined in and soon I could hear the chant being passed on down the line, far into the distance, to the other end of our row, and then on to the other rows across the field.  
  
So I got it into my head to sing them a song, from London, where I spent most of my childhood.  
  
It's called The Goodman'. I chose it because it's one of the few I know that isn't rude. This normally isn't a problem, but I didn't want to offend my new friends so quickly. Well alright, there are a few rude verses, but I didn't sing those. It goes like this:  
  
The good man he came home one night,  
You good man home came he,  
There he spied an old saddle horse,   
Where no horse should there be.  
It's a cow, it's a cow! cried the good man's wife,  
A cow just a cow, can't you see?  
Far have I ridden, much I've seen,  
A saddle on a cow has never been.  
  
The slaves, seemed to like it, so I carried on.  
  
The good man he came home one night,  
You good man home came he,  
There he spied a riding coat,  
Where no coat should there be.  
It's sheets, just sheets! cried the good man's wife,  
Sheets just sheets, can't you see?  
Far have I ridden, much I've seen,  
But buttons on a sheet have never been.  
  
The good man climbed the stairs that night,  
When the good man home came he,  
There he spied a handsome man,  
Where no man should there be,  
It's the maid, it's the maid! cried the good man's wife,  
The milking maid can't you see?  
Far have I ridden, much I've seen,  
A beard on a maid has never been.  
  
Those of the slaves that could understand english laughed uproariously, and so did a few of the guards nearby.  
  
Thankyou, ladies and gentleman. I says, bowing.  
  
Someone nearby began a song again, and soon everyone had joined in.   
  
I said, able to speak freely now that the loud singing all around was covering my voice from prying ears.  
  
Yesterday, in the Grinding house, there was a woman with Gabriel - do you know her?   
  
I felt that the opportune moment I was awaiting was drawing nearer. If I was going to risk my neck trying to scarper, I wanted to know everything about my angel while I still could. Maybe then, if I did end up with my throat cut, she could help me on the other side, so to speak. After all, an angel like her should have some pull with the Lord above, and a man that's led a life like man needs as much help as he can to pry those pearly gates open when his time comes.  
  
Nathan looked at me wearily.  
  
  
Oh just curious. says I, trying to look innocent. Admittedly this is something I need to practice a lot more to be convincing.  
  
She is going to marry the Master. She is of his family - a cousin perhaps? I don't know. I only say what I have heard, and much of it might be wrong. Just rumours. he shook his head dismissively.  
  
I pleaded.  
  
He sighed, dumping another basket of cane behind to where another was waiting to strip the leaves from the plant.  
  
She is to marry him, but they say she..., he looked wearily around, she does not think him a good man. I cannot say any more Jack. I know nothing else.  
  
Nathan's tone made it clear the conversation was over. But it didn't matter, because the spark of hope inside me had been given a gust of air, enough to make it flare up into a leaping flame.  
  
So it was of my angel I thought on, all through the morning. I was beginning to fear the opportune moment would never make itself known, until an unspoken shiver seemed to run up the line of slaves. The singing stopped, and the pace of work quickened. Before long I could hear a familiar voice floating up the row.  
  
_Well hello, Gabriel, _thinks I.  
  
He didn't even look at me as he neared, and stopped to speak to one of the guards nearby.  
  
Here it is. The moment.  
  
I sprinted away from the line, and Jack's a nimble fellow when there's need. One of the guards made a dive for me. I heard him crash to the ground behind, not even laying a finger on me.  
  
And there he was, and there was my scythe, lifting up and hooking around, and what's this? Gabriel Jones, standing there stock still with Jack's blade at his throat.  
  
Everything stopped. A hundred eyes turned to me, and that's the way I like it.  
  
I whispered in his ear, one arm gripping him to my chest and another, steady as a rock holding the scythe a hair's breadth from his skin.  
  
He laughed, not sounding afraid in the least. I jerked the scythe a little closer, trying my hardest to think menacing thoughts.  
  
Gabriel nodded, a tiny fraction of a movement, so as not to provoke me. But it was enough to signal to one of the guards. He grabbed a slave with a jerk and held a pistol to his head in front of me.  
  
You're a reasonable man. spat Gabriel with disgust. I'm not.  
  
I could feel my heart beating faster and faster as the adrenaline pumped through me. The slaves eyes were wide and fixed on mine.  
  
Kill me and they'll kill him. Even you should understand that. I can't make it any simpler.  
  
And there's those things called morals again.   
  
If I kill Gabriel, then I _know_ they'll shoot the slave.  
  
But one slave, just one, for the life of a man like this. Is it worth it? Shouldn't I ask him?  
  
I looked at the slave. His chest was heaving now, his breath coming in short gasps.   
  
he begged in a ragged voice. My name is Dawit! he blurted, I have a wife named Jira! I have two daughters and a son...   
  
It was as though he was trying to make me know him. Make it harder for me to condemn him to death. He was trying to tell me his whole life story to make himself human in my eyes.  
  
I lowered the scythe.  
  
And the guard pulled the trigger.  
  
**TBC.....  
  
Thanks again for reviews, me lovelies!   
  
sammyjo3 - yes, here is more!  
  
Rat - the same to you!  
  
Savvylicious01 - sarcasm noted  
  
Otherhawk - yep, Jack sure is one to veer off topic. I think the problem is that he has too many tales to tell, and only one lifetime to tell them in!  
  
ping*pong5 - Unfortunately it's not the lovely Anamaria, sorry! She does however feature very prominently in my other fic A boat with my name on it.' *cough*shameless plug*cough*  
  
Cal - what can I say? Thanks again for your _massive_ review! It's such a joy to know that you're enjoying it, and that you're feeling so sorry for Jack! Never fear though - Jack _always_ comes out on top. If a little roughed up along the way.  
  
Anna Summers - Thankyou! I'm impressed at the speed you zipped through the chapters!  
  
CaptainCatalina- whoa, whoa! That's quite a thing to say Cap'n! I mean, there aren't many things that are better than rum. Maybe you just having been drinking the best kind of rum. And I'll accept the cheers' from the H.M.S Catalina, even if it does sound suspiciously like a Naval ship...  
  
Jaina Kenobi - I'm pleased that you trust me, but don't be so hasty! I'm not sure I even trust myself! And I certainly don't trust Jack!  
  
Thanks again everybody!x.x.x**


	7. Solitary confinement

** Liberty, Equality. Fraternity -by Cunien  
  
Right - I am going to be in New Zealand for 2 and half months at the beginning of April, so I fear there may be only one more chapter to come until mid to end of June. I won't be able to write more as I will be backpacking and most likely won't have time.  
  
I'm so sorry about this. I wanted to try and finish the fic before then but I am _so_ busy right now with work and organising and band and various other commitments.   
  
I hope that you won't forsake this fic, because I have a lot more to come - in which we find out more about Nathan and Megan, Bootstrap and Barbossa make appearances, and Jack becomes a true revolutionary. For once I have a pretty good idea of how this is going to turn out, and there are one or two significant developments that will impact on the characters and events of the film. Please, please, hang around!  
  
So, like I said, I will do my best to knock out another chapter, and more if I have the time. If you want to check out my exploits in New Zealand, where I shall be hobbit hunting, check out my livejournal because I am planning to update there quite often with wild tales of my hilarious exploits in the land of the Kiwi. I'm hoping to post there and email whenever I can, I just won't have time to sit down and type on a computer, though I'll probably still be writing in notebooks and the like.  
  
Anyway, on with the fic  
  
Warning: Maybe some mild cockney swearing. _Also_ some hallucinations and not very nice mental stuff, with most definite violence too - Jack thinks nothing of it, so don't trouble yourself over it. He's like a cartoon character - he just bounces right back!  
  
Chapter 7 - Solitary confinement.  
**  
Now being on me onesy has never really bothered me, seeming as that's where I've been practically from the moment I left my dear old mum's womb. I find that there's no one you can depend upon more than yourself - you'll never be betrayed or let down on that account. Or mutinied for that matter. I say put all your eggs in one basket and go it alone.  
  
So the thought of solitary confinement didn't really have me quaking in my boots.  
  
But there's solitary confinement, and there's being alone in a room not even big enough to stand up in.   
In the pitch dark.  
With no living creature around but rats.   
  
For over a week.  
  
The room was really just a stone walled box. There was a bucket in the corner, which they emptied through a slat in the door, and pushed the odd scrap of bread and water, when they remembered.  
  
After a while of sitting in the dark, I was overcome with the feeling that someone was in there with me, which was ridiculous really as there was hardly enough room for one man, let alone two.  
  
But the feeling didn't go away, not even when I flailed out and felt nothing but the cold stone of the walls.  
  
Then quiet as a mouse, I hear a noise. It sounded like crying. Just little sniffles and sobs.  
  
Who's there? I shouted. My voice echoed painfully loud in the tiny space.  
  
There was no answer, but through the gloom I began to see a face, a person, as though he'd been there all along and my eyes were only just becoming accustomed to the dark.  
  
I asked, but I really, really didn't want to know the answer.  
  
When I tried to touch him my fingers went right through flesh and bone. Well why shouldn't they? He was dead after all.  
  
I know it wasn't my fault. It can't have been. Well, _now_ I know that anyway.   
  
I'd acted rashly and a man died, but I hadn't killed him. I'd tried to save him.  
  
But try telling that to me in that bloody box of a room, when I could hear him crying. And try telling that to me in the months after, when I'd drunk enough rum to drown the sorrows of an entire nation, and his eyes stared back at me from every face I came across.  
  
I tried to ignore him but it didn't work. I recited the names and purposes of all the sails on the _Pearl_ out loud, and let me tell you, that's a lot of sails. But he was still there. I told him to go away but he wouldn't.  
  
So I started counting the stones in the walls. Don't ask me why, but it was something to set my mind to at least, and it seemed to work, because after a while he went away.  
  
But then, I was suddenly sure that I hadn't counted them properly. Somehow I thought I might have jumped from 55 to 60, without the in betweens, and before I knew it I couldn't settle down for thinking about it.  
  
Well, I couldn't settle down at all really, due to the fact I'd been crammed into a very small, pitch dark room. Jack Sparrow can sleep almost anywhere, but there are some things even he can't endure. And I knew if I left it too long then Dawit would be back, and I didn't think I could stand that.  
  
So I sat there, and I counted the stones again, just by touch alone, which is really something I can tell you. I may not look it, but I'm an educated fellow. I know my letters and my numbers - a man doesn't get to being a captain without that sort of knowledge. But there's a difference between counting over a hundred things with light, and counting them with no.  
  
196. Walls, ceiling and floor. 196.   
  
Or was it 195? Perhaps I'd counted one twice?  
  
So I counted again.  
  
May seem crazy to you, eh? Well you'd be right, because it seems so to me. It did even then. But I was overcome with the feeling that Dawit would be back, and he'd kill me, if I didn't get the exact number right.   
  
I couldn't rest until I knew.  
  
I'd got to 129 on my 6th or 7th go, when I heard something outside.   
  
Now, bear in mind those walls were pretty thick, so I could only just make out the barest whisper of a voice.  
  
It was singing. A beautiful voice, singing a song. For me.  
  
At first I thought that maybe it was Dawit, or another ghost. Then I thought perhaps I was dreaming of my Mother. But then I remembered, old Mother Sparrow never sang to me. She wouldn't be caught dead singing to her child.   
  
Besides, she had a God-awful singing voice.  
  
This voice was so beautiful - soft and soothing and meant for _me.  
  
_Then I thought it might be angels. But when have I ever done anything that merited a call from the host of Seraphim? Ghosts maybe, but angels, singing to me? No.  
  
_Dear thoughts are in my mind, and my soul it soars enchanted, as I hear the sweet lark sing in the clear air of the day,_ sang the voice, while I searched my mind for anyone who might wish to sing for _me_, of all people.  
  
_I will tell him all my love, all my soul's pure adoration, and I know he will hear my voice and he will not answer me nay._  
  
I didn't care who it was. I didn't care why they were singing, or if they knew they were singing to me - a pirate, a brigand, and generally not a very good man.   
  
I didn't care. The voice kept singing, and I found sleep, if for a little while.  
  
When I woke the singing had stopped, which made me wish I had never heard it in the first place.   
  
If not for that singing I believe I would have gone truly mad. Now, this may not sound like a thing to rejoice at, but believe me, if you were in that room, alone, starved and thirsty and sick as a dog, then you'd be begging for it.   
  
Because there's a blessed release in losing your mind, after a while. After the blind fear, the not knowing where or who or when you are has passed, there's no more here and now. And that can be a wonderful thing, let me tell you.  
  
Only God and Gabriel Jones knew exactly how long I was in that hell hole.   
  
When they finally let me out I couldn't open my eyes for a day, the light was so blinding.  
  
I was taken to the same building they put me in when first I reached Nassau. This time they mercifully didn't bother with the stocks, and I thanked the stars above for my good luck.   
  
I slept like a bloody log that night, and all through the next day and night too. Not particularly nice conditions, even without the stocks, but by God it was heaven compared to the box of a room I'd had the pleasure of occupying for the past few days. Or week. Or however long it was.  
  
It was a completely different world out there. In solitary confinement, in that tiny room, it seemed perfectly realistic that I'd be visited by ghosts and singing angels, and overcome with an obsession to count.   
  
But out here, the air was fresh. I could feel a breeze brushing soothingly across my face. I could hear people at work in the day, and at night I could almost _feel_ the stars above me, shining through the iron grid roof. I felt like part of the world again.  
  
The morning after that, I was rudely awoken by the rather startling experience of having a bucket or water emptied over my head. I made a big fuss of course, but in truth it was a welcome chance to have a drink - I'd been sleeping face up with my mouth wide open, see.  
  
The sun shone down far too bright for me. If I squinted a little I could make out shady blurs of the men who came to get me, but to be honest it was too tiring to keep up for long. Far better to keep my eyes shut and wince at the red light that shone through my eyelids. Even that was blinding.  
  
I felt like I'd have permanent squint-lines about my eyes, if I ever got out of this in good enough a shape to care.  
  
They took me, sopping wet, to see Gabriel. I took some comfort in the feel of the expensive carpets beneath my feet. Or beneath my knees, as the case may be, and due to the fact they were dragging me along rather roughly. But, on the up side of the coin, they hadn't beaten me up yet. My point is, dear listeners, that my good self, still dripping with water, was sullying Gabriel Jones' exquisite persian carpets, and at that moment nothing could have given me more pleasure.  
  
Bar punching him in the face, of course. But that goes without saying, don't it?  
  
I cracked an eye open when they dumped me to the ground. I could make out a rather blurry Gabriel between my eyelashes, and a woman sitting next to me. My heart leapt like fury in my chest when I realised it was my angel.  
  
Gabriel ignored me for a few minutes and carried on eating his breakfast and making polite small talk to my angel. She didn't seem particularly interested. Whenever I ventured to open my eyes a crack I could see her watching me. I couldn't tell whether it was with pity, disgust or something else, but at that moment it didn't really matter. She was looking, that was the most important thing.  
  
Getting their attention is the first and most important step. Impressions can be worked on, but only once you've got them looking.   
  
Admittedly, being dumped soaking wet and clearly not in a fit state to stand up isn't the method I normally use to get a ladies attention, but in this case it'd do the job. And it was better than the last time we'd met, and I'd brought up the entire contents of my stomach all over myself.  
  
But anyway, I hear this clink, right, and I know Gabriel's put down his empty tea cup. There's some shuffling around that's him settling back in his chair to survey me - I've done this enough times to know how it goes. I didn't need to open my eyes to know he was looking at me with a look of disgust, amusement and ever so slight disinterest.  
  
says I, smiling at him because I know that's not what he expects.  
  
he says coldly, Take a good look, Megan - you'll find no better example of the depths to which a human being can lower himself. Looks like you've been sleeping in your own filth for days, Jack. Like an animal.  
  
I could hear the cold smile in his voice.   
  
Don't look. Don't open your eyes, I tell myself. Don't look.  
  
But I did.   
I squinted though my lashes, as he turned and smiled at my angel. She blushed and bowed her head, and for a second I could have sworn she looked angry and a little ashamed.  
  
I had to fight from going beet red with anger at that moment too. I hated that Gabriel could make her feel that way. I didn't want her to be ashamed.  
  
I shifted around until my knees were beneath me, and I lifted one, slowly, until my foot was solid on the ground. I pushed out with my hands, and up goes another, and there I am, ever so slowly but surely creeping up.  
  
My knee gave way, taking all that weight alone, and for a moment my hands flailed out blindly for something that I could grab to pull myself up. I felt the surface of a small table nearby that would've done the job, but my pride took over and I decided to go it alone.  
  
Funny that, ain't it? Thinking about pride when you're kneeling on the carpet at a man's feet.  
  
But after much huffing and puffing I was standing, and from this vantage point, wobbly as it was, I was able to look down - okay, _squint_ down at Gabriel, sitting opposite me in his chair.   
  
Of course, he wasn't one to let himself be beaten, so he silently stood up too. Now, I won't be called short, but compared to Gabriel I'm a slight thing. He's one of those men that's taller than should be allowed, with more muscles than there's call for. So now he was looking down at me again.  
  
I considered trying to clamber up on to the table for a moment, but thought better. I wasn't too steady on my feet as it was - the dizzying heights of the table may well be the end of me.  
  
But it didn't matter really. I'd pissed him off, which was good. My angel, Megan, was looking at me with wide eyes, her already fair skin drained of colour.  
  
Well, it seemed I _had_ made an impression after all.  
  
Gabriel Jones motioned with his hand, and two ruffians appeared, seemingly from thin air, and took hold of my arms. I let them of course, but instead of flopping down and letting them take my weight, as my trembling legs were begging me, I kept standing.   
  
Take him back to the slave village. You'll go back to work tomorrow. Don't let it be said that Gabriel Jones is an unmerciful man.  
  
I laughed out loud at this. And suddenly I couldn't stop, and the giggles took over with a vengeance.  
  
Try telling that to Dawit! I gasped through my laughter.  
  
One of the men holding me cuffed me round the head, which shut me up.  
  
Who the hell's _Dawit_? muttered Gabriel as they marched me out of the room, which made me smile. I know it may seem callous to you, but at that moment it seemed so ridiculous to me I could barely control myself.  
  
I held on until we'd left the room, till we'd stepped out of the house and even until we were out of view around the bend. Then I let my legs go and collapse, as they'd been threatening to for a while now. The men swore at me but took my weight and carried me along, up the hill to the village. Besides, like Gabriel, these two men had more muscles than they would ever need, whereas I was on the more modest side. It was only right that they put them to good use.  
  
We passed the fields without stopping, though I noticed through my squinting eyes that the slaves turned to watch as I passed, until the Overseers and guards cracked their whips and swore at them to get back to work. When we reached the first fields the slaves were singing, but as the word was passed back up the hill, the songs stopped, and the silence was painful as all eyes were on me.  
  
I tried not to look, because I was afraid I'd see the accusatory look in the eyes of the people who had been so kind and welcoming only days ago.  
  
Up at the village the men dropped me and trudged back down the hill. I lay in the dirt, having used most of my energy for Gabriel with my great standing feat, and just enjoyed the feeling of air and space around me.  
  
**TBC...  
  
No thanks section today fraid, as I am so eager to get this little chappy up while I have the time! But, thanks to all of you who have reviewed or emailed me - you know who you are - and I am immensely grateful and thankful for your encouragement and feedback. I can't tell you what it means to me. Also, this story isn't even finished yet, and it has, at the time of writing this, one less review than the total of those for A boat with my name on it'! Note to self: angst is a crowd pleaser!! lol.  
Next chapter will have a very long review thanks section, I promise!  
Thanks again me lovelies!x.x.x.**


	8. Angelic conversation

** Liberty,Equality,Fraternity - **by Cunien  
  
**Hello!  
Wow, it's been a while! I arrived home from New Zealand on saturday, and I'm horribly jet-lagged, but still managed to write you this chapter. See? See how dedicated I am to you, dear reader (reader_s_?)?  
  
Anyway, having been away, I seem to have forgotten everything that I've written in the previous chapters, we have a new computer so I've lost all my notes and previous chappys at the moment, and am totally floundering. So, if there are any glaring mistakes, please, please point them out. If I've said one thing in one chapter, and completely changed it in the next, tell me, and I'll correct it. Obviously I'll try my best to find them and iron it out before I post this, but as I said, I'm nackered, I'm not up to much.  
  
Plus I do believe that I've been over ambitious for this story. Whoops. Too late now.  
  
Please forgive obvious typos and mistakes - I'm not the most observant person.  
  
Warnings: As a series - Mild swearing, not so mild racism and slavery. Also violence and torture, mostly aimed at Jack - Don't worry your pretty little head about it - Jack doesn't.**  
**  
Chapter 8- Unmasking an angel.**  
**  
**Pride's a funny thing, ain't it?   
Especially when you're in my line of work, in this day and age. Used to be a time when we were setting a trend, and now you turn your back for 5 minutes and next thing you know there's a hundred bleeding pretenders to the throne. Everyone poor sap with an attitude problem and an empty purse has ideas of becoming the most feared pirate ever to sail the Seven seas. So it's important you stand above this kind of dross.   
  
Luckily they don't last long.  
  
I've said it before, and I'll say it again: appearance is everything when you're a Gentleman of fortune like meself. That's why I take such good care of my personage.  
  
Crawling never was a very dignified means of getting from one place to the next.   
  
Unfortunately at this time there wasn't much choice - I seemed to had misplaced my legs.  
  
So crawling like a babe at first, then pulling myself along with my arms, and then when I was too tired for that, just slithering along in the dirt like a snake, I finally reached the doorway to Nathan's house.   
  
I had planned to pick myself up and walk through the door, you know, to make a good impression, but my body had other ideas. So crawling it was.   
  
There was no one inside when I got there, and I thanked my lucky stars. Sarah and baby Anne were I don't know where. For obvious reasons, I wasn't really in the mood for socialising.  
  
So I invited myself in, and then invited myself to some bread and water and a bed. I wasn't sure what kind of a welcome I'd receive from Nathan and his family when they returned from the fields, after what had happened with Dawit.   
  
For a brief second I allowed myself to think about his family, his wife, Jira, his two daughters and his son- as if I hadn't thought about them enough when I was locked in that cell with nothing but ghosts and rats for company.   
  
But I'm not one to wallow in misery when there's more important things to do, like sleeping.  
  
Besides, the morning sun was still low in the sky, and it would be hours before anyone finished working the fields or the Grinding house. Right then I wanted nothing more than sleep, unconsciousness, or failing that, death.  
  
After a fitful half an hour or so of trying to toss and turn the aches out of my back, I finally found myself drifting in and out of a far from satisfying doze. Things were just beginning to look promising, with sleep flirting on the edges of my mind, when I heard someone slip past the canvas sheet that served as a door in Nathan's house.  
  
Thinking it was Nathan, or possibly Sarah, I pretended to be asleep. I didn't really feel like a confrontation right then, which, knowing me you'll realise is quite contrary to my nature.   
  
The thing is, pretending to be asleep isn't such an easy thing to do. I've never really spent any time watching someone sleep - whenever I've been in a position to be around someone at that time of night there have been other games to play, more important, not to mention more enjoyable, than sleep.  
  
So there I am, wondering if my eyelids are flickering and giving me away, and if you swallow when you're asleep, when suddenly I feel something against my cheek.   
  
Now, this startled me a bit, but I managed to turn my jerk of surprise into a sleepy sort of squirm, which I believe was quite convincing.  
  
But a few minutes later, it happened again. Something soft, something smooth was touching, nay, _caressing_ my cheek. It was so gentle and felt so wonderful I couldn't help but turn into the touch, to feel it stroking gently from my  
cheek-bone down to my chin and back again, swirling little circles across my skin.  
  
Well, I've never been one to allow a mystery to remain just that, so I risked a peek.  
  
And there was my angel, a bright halo of sunlight streaming in from outside. It seemed to dance around her head, touching her hair and painting it with red, like the colour of light shining through a bottle of rum.  
  
It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Or have seen since. And I've seen the dawn light sparking from jewel bright minarets and domes; mountains so wild and endless they steal the very breath from your lungs; strange carved temples built by ancient hands and Sultan's harems that.... well, I don't really need to elaborate on that one do I. I mean, there's hundreds of girls in them harems, the chance of at least one of the being a stunner is pretty high. I sometimes think I should start collecting girls for my own harem... but here I am drifting away again, and though I'm sure you would find it all riveting, it isn't exactly vital to the telling of the tale.   
Not this one, anyway.  
  
Now, my angel was the last person I was expecting to see looking down at me right there and then. You know I mentioned those mountains that make your breath catch? Well, it was the same here, which resulted in me staring at her without remembering to breath for what felt like hours, before choking, hacking and coughing while she attempted to role me over and hit me on the back.   
  
At least, that's what I think she was trying to do. It was a bit confusing there for a while. Not to mention highly unflattering. Not that I've ever needed flattering to make myself attractive to the fairer sex. Or any sex, for that matter.  
  
Once we'd all calmed down a bit and remembered how to breath once more, it suddenly dawned on me that I was alone in the house, alone with an angel.  
  
I blushed beet red.  
  
I panicked for a minute there, feeling my cheeks burn strangely. It took me a while to realise what was going on, as I don't think I've ever done such a thing as blush before. There's not much as can make Old Mother Sparrow's son embarrassed.  
  
she said.  
  
said I.  
  
My name's.. we both said, the same time.   
  
My name's Megan Kelly. I know your Jack Sparrow. She had a slight lilt to her voice, that could have been Irish.  
  
I mumbled, Yes. Yes that's it. Jack. I'm Jack.  
  
I seemed to have forgotten my name there for a moment, in the face of such unearthly beauty.  
  
I'm sorry. she said. If it means anything. I don't suppose it does. I'm sorry for what he does to you.  
  
I smiled, trying desperately to hoist myself into a sitting position, in an attempt to look slightly more alive. There was no need to ask who he' was.   
I wouldn't worry if I were you - I've had worse.  
  
She smiled a little, but not as though she really thought it was funny, and a frown still creased her perfect face.  
  
So - says I at my most charming, and feeling a little more confident now I wasn't lying there staring up at her. I felt that being in a position to see right up her nose might spoil my angelic vision of her.  
  
Megan. what brings an angel like you to hell?  
  
Both the frown and the smile slipped from her face, and something blank and formal replaced it.  
  
Please Mr Sparrow, just because I've seen you dripping wet and bleeding on my carpet doesn't mean we can dispense with the formalities.  
  
Excuse me, I points out, It's not me that's chose to sit alone in a house with a pirate and a brigand, stroking his face in a _most_ informal way - you can't expect much more from me. It's in me nature. I grinned.  
  
She flustered for a moment, and I made a mental note to annoy her more often, if I could, as she looked quote stunning when she pouted. I found I like her in all moods and weathers.  
  
If you're that concerned you should have brought a chaperone, _Miss Kelly.  
  
_Megan frowned and sat down with a half repressed sigh that came out more as a sort of puff. I don't know _why_ I came to see you. she said quietly, more to herself than me I think. She stared at the floor, her shoe scraping little circles in the dirt.  
  
I suppose you couldn't help yourself eh? Been bewitched by my smile the first moment you saw me I expect?  
  
I knew I was pushing my luck, but I couldn't help myself. You see, I've never tried to seduce a woman like her before. To be honest it's not that hard when most of the ladies you come across are in Tortuga, which isn't exactly the hub of chastity and morality in this world. In fact, most of the woman I come into contact with are as devious and dishonest as me. Which is really something let me tell you.  
  
So in that respect, I'm not really practised at charming your more _principled _type. If they're going to fall for me, it's normally because they want a bit of rough, you know. And I've nothing against that, if I get the goods, if you know what I mean. I am a pirate after all. And a man.  
  
But this was different. This was new. This was _difficult_.  
  
Megan looked at me, a rather haughty look on her face.   
I suppose you think I'll be charmed by your rusticity. I'm not.  
This rather caught me off guard. I was going to have to change tack on this one.  
  
says I, backing off a little.  
  
So she sort of gathers herself together with a deep breath and says, No I'm sorry, but there's really nothing that can be done. I wish there was, but there isn't. We must resign ourselves to the fact that we're going to be here for the rest of our lives, Mr Sparrow.  
  
That's as maybe, luv, but it strikes me that on my account at least, that may not be too long now. Anyway, you could leave if you wanted. What's stopping you from jumping ship right now?  
  
There are....extenuating circumstances. You wouldn't understand.  
  
Circumstances. An..._engagement_ _ring_. That would definitely qualify as a circumstance. Wouldn't you say? I pushed.  
  
Megan jumped up and looked down on me furiously.   
That is _none_ of your business! she fumed, pacing the floor. The _circumstances_ may be rather different for the both of us, Mr Sparrow, but a gilded cage is still a cage.  
  
She made as if to leave, but turned at the last moment. If you die, Gabriel will win.  
  
This ain't a playground scuffle darling. Higher stakes now. And unfortunately I'm in the middle of one hell of a loosing streak.  
  
I didn't mean to make her sad, really. I wasn't used to people getting upset on my account, so it took me rather by surprise.  
  
You can't.. leave me here. Alone. Megan's eyes were glistening.  
  
You're on an island surrounded by hundreds of people. Or don't you count the Africans among the ranks of men? I was trying to reassure her, but it didn't come out right. Like I said, this is unmapped waters for me.  
  
She paled and said, You know what I mean.  
  
Don't worry luv - I'm waiting on a miracle, see. Should be here any day now.  
  
And despite it all, I didn't _really_ think that I was going to die.   
Cause I'm Jack Sparrow, see?   
It sounds like I'm pulling your leg, I know, but I'm not. If I can hang on long enough, stay alive, keep my wits and all my limbs about me, then things always turn out alright, in the end, don't they? Sooner or later Jack gets dealt a good hand, and when it comes, it always worth the waiting. I was expecting a Royal flush any time now.  
  
So Megan takes a deep breath, and wipes her eyes. When she looks at me again I can see that she's pulled herself together, and I feel proud.   
she sys, firmly. , and she walks out the door.  
  
I call after her, and she sticks her head back through the door.  
Don't go doing anything...stupid. On my account. Eh?  
  
She nods, and smiles, and then she's gone. Just like that.  
  
And then my head fell back on the bundle that was a pillow, and I let myself sleep. I was so exhausted and wonderfully happy. So what if she was Gabriel's fiancé? Jack Sparrow wouldn't have got anywhere if he let things like that get in his way.  
  
**TBC.....**  
  
**Okay, so not much happens in this chapter, but there will be more action soon. We just needed to meet Megan.   
I just need to get back into the swing of things. This is the first time that I've written a chapter, and then gone back and totally rewritten it. Normally, it's just there, first time, with the exception of a few typos and spelling mistakes. But this time I think Jack had taken a little cruise and left me alone - gone on holiday as I was away in New Zealand. But now he's coming back - he's sailing into port right now, shouting the story at me, just from a little way away. Next chapter, or maybe the chapter after that, will answer a lot of questions about Megan. You won't have to wait 2 and half months for it this time though. I'm going to try and write furiously before I go to University in september. Because then I will be a student. And therefore a lazy bum.  
  
Thanks for reviews since I last posted, hope there's still someone out there willing to read this.  
  
x.x.x**


	9. The Voodoo who do what you don't dare to

**Liberty,Equality,Fraternity - **by Cunien  
  
**  
Thanks for your reviews, you lovely lovely people you! A thanks section is sitting smack band at the end of this chappy!**  
  
**Also, please tell me if you think that Megan is too snobby and annoying to be even remotely likeable. I don't mind her, but then, I know things about her that you don't. And she's not meant to be _horrible_.....or are you all just jealous because Jack's besotted with her???? Come on, own up!**  
  
**Please forgive obvious typos and mistakes - I'm not the most observant person.  
  
Warnings: As a series - Mild swearing, not so mild racism and slavery. Also violence and torture, mostly aimed at Jack - Don't worry your pretty little head about it - Jack doesn't.  
  
Also, there is some religious stuff in here - just to be clear on the subject before I get the flames of reviews and the flames of hell - the views expressed in this fic are Jack's. _Not_ mine. Please don't take offence, because that is the last thing that I want, really. It's just a bit of fun.**  
**  
Chapter 9- The Voodoo do do what you don't dare to do.  
  
**Sleep is such a wonderful thing, ain't it? Gives your body and your mind a little time to rest, and I need not say that as Jack Sparrow, this is a saving grace.  
When you're a person such as myself, you find you need a lot of sleep, but never have the time or the opportunity to do so. Years of being at a ship's helm gives you a sort of alternative, where you can let certain bits of your mind go and still have enough control to actually sail. Mind you, if you've done it as long as I have you can do it in your sleep anyway.  
  
But the sleep I indulged in that day was the deepest, most complete sleep I think I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. There's nothing like a good bit of physical and mental abuse to really tire you out.  
  
When I woke up, Sarah and baby Anne were back. I watched as the tall African woman unwrapped the large sling that held her baby bound to her chest. She put Anne on a blanket on the ground and began unpacking a basket of vegetables.  
  
We have a market tomorrow, on sunday. We barter for meat with the vegetables we grow. she said without looking up.  
  
Oh. That's nice. says I.  
  
Yes it is. You'll be eating the meat tomorrow without having to lift a finger for it. she said, but her eyes twinkled at me, and she smiled. No - we give everything freely.  
Sarah stopped and looked solemnly at me. I think you might be the one that will  
redeem us.  
  
asks I, a little worried about where this conversation was going.   
  
Or you'll die. she said, going back to work, and this time she seemed completely serious. I swallowed, audibly I think.  
  
I offered, after a while. Jack Sparrow always comes out on top. I said with a smile, but somehow it didn't convince me as much as it did when I was telling it to Megan. S'amazing how you can go to sleep with the world one way and wake with it completely different.  
  
Sarah set to work lighting a fire, and I tried to help, honestly, but she refused my services. Thank God. I don't think I really _could _have lifted a finger then, even if I'd wanted to.   
  
So I sat listening to the fire crackling and popping, and Sarah quietly filling the large cast iron cooking pot with I don't know what. Smelt nice though.   
  
Now, Gabriel and I must have had one thing in common at least - we weren't so good with the days of the week. He'd said I could go back to work tomorrow, but tomorrow was sunday, and the day of rest. Mind you, I had never really observed this rule before, but I wasn't one to complain when it meant another day to recuperate. Wasn't my fault that Gabriel didn't take enough notice to know that Sunday was the slave's God-given day off.   
  
Seemed a bit strange to me, that. I mean, it certainly wasn't _their_ God that was giving anything.  
  
Anyway, Sarah gets up and takes the pot off the fire, and moves it to the side like, so it simmers gently. I know she wants to wait for her husband to come home before we eat, and I know that won't be long now, but by God I'm hungry!   
So I trys out my starving puppy dog eyes and, of course, she can't resist.   
  
With a sigh and a grumble she dished out a bowl of the stuff, whatever it was, and plonked it in my lap, before withdrawing to watch me eat. If that's what you can call it. I don't thick it touched the insides of my mouth on it's way down.  
  
Baby Anne began to whimper, as babies are wont to do, and her mother picked her up and started to rock her in her arm, which quietened her down, thank God.  
  
Nathan and I have been slaves for a very long time. We had a daughter, at home. She died on the way over.  
  
I choked on the last mouthful of....whatever it was, unsure of where this conversation had come from, and worse, what part I was expected to play.  
  
How old was she? I asked, rather lamely. I don't do serious conversations like this often.  
  
Sarah said. In Africa, my husband was proud and brave. But one of his friends betrayed us. They gave him gold and the promise of freedom if he betrayed the Olinka. So he did. She sighed. Nathan was very angry, for a long time. At the Gods. At a friend who sold us all to the Devil.  
  
What happened? I asked, genuinely now, because Nathan didn't seem like an angry man at all. And I'd know, cause I've seen my fair share. Seem to follow me around actually.  
  
Chenai died, and he stopped being angry. Sarah answered, The people looked to him to lead, so he said, Accept your Christian names. Leave behind your old life. Work hard, learn english, do as our Masters say'.  
  
Her hands were trembling so she lay her baby down gently on the ground.  
  
He has forgotten what it is to be Olinka.  
  
Sarah looked at me and her eyes sparked with pride and anger. My baby is not called Anne. Her name is _Sadif_. Her grandmother's name. She is Olinka. She will not forget.  
  
I said, quietly. I had started to see something in Sarah that I had not seen in a person for quite some time. Something I knew like the back of my hand, because I had it by the barrel-full: _stubbornness_. Indomitable, unconquerable, bloody-minded and pigheaded.   
  
For so long on this island, all I'd seen was Gabriel and his bastard in arms' confidence and the slaves rolling over without a fight. It wasn't just because the odds were against them. No, it was more than that. It was like they'd left themselves somewhere between the Spanish Main and Africa, somewhere in the stinking, fetid holds of the slave ships. They were nothing but empty shells of people.  
  
But Sarah - Sarah was alive. And more than that, she was _angry._ I thoroughly approved.  
  
And something hatched out inside me, something living, like Sarah's fury. It was   
a shinier and newer version of a thing that been dying this past while, but had been in me since I was a little'un: hope. Clear and shining it was, singing in me. I had no clue what I was going to do with it, but it was there, waiting for the opportune moment to spring forth and crush Gabriel like an ant.  
  
I could've kissed Sarah, but my legs declined to involve themselves in madness like getting up and walking the distance between us. I grinned crookedly instead.  
  
My name's Jack Sparrow. I said, chuckling to myself. But you can call me The Saviour'.  
  
Sarah looked at me as if I had gone quite mad, but was too insignificant to worry too much about.  
  
Later that night Nathan came home, but I barely noticed him through my half closed eyes. I slept like the dead. Again.   
  
And then, all too soon, morning had come. The sun, cruel strumpet that she is, had risen far too early for my liking.  
  
I screwed up my eyes, and Nathan's voice floated to me from somewhere above, like the voice of God.  
  
I mumbled. My mouth felt like it had been packed with sand.  
  
It's market today. You don't have to come. a blurry Nathan hovering above me said.  
  
says I, trying to get up. I scrubbed furiously at my eyes, trying to forcefully evict the sleep hiding there. I knew if I didn't get up now I wouldn't ever again. Nathan nodded, and offered a hand to help me up, quietly, as though he knew that my pride was already considerably tarnished by recent events. I accepted it gratefully.  
  
But first it's Church. he said, as we walked through the village.  
Bloody hell! I yelped, stopping in my tracks, If you'd told me that I wouldn't have bothered getting out of bed!  
  
Nathan kept walking, but I could see his face lift and crinkle as he smiled.   
That's why I didn't tell you.  
  
Now, I have nothing but respect for the old man upstairs, honest. Especially since he sends such lovely angels my way. But the thing is, I'd really rather leave all that stuff to the _good_ people - know what I mean?  
  
After all, a ship is my church. Behind the wheel I'm in my pulpit - the crew are my congregation and the wind in the sails is God's very breath.  
  
It's here I feel it. The closeness to..._something_. What that something is I've not quite determined yet, but don't worry - I intend to.  
  
Unlike the other buildings in the village, the church was a properly built wooden thing, with a bell tower and real glass windows. It looked rather out of place here.  
It was big, but not big enough to accommodate the entire population of slaves on the plantation. I asked Nathan, and he explained that there were many slave villages on the plantation. Each would have a given time to attend church on a sunday, and a given time at the market. It all seemed so well organised that it made me feel a bit queasy. Like these people were cattle to be herded from one place to the next.   
  
Most of the Africans were inside when we walked through the church doors into the cool interior. It was already bleeding hot outside, and I, of course, didn't have my hat.  
  
For a few blissful hours, I had forgotten about Dawit. Nathan had treated me no differently, and so I was taken aback by the sudden silence that descended on the congregation as I walked inside. It stopped me in my tracks.  
  
Eyes turned to look at me - eyes that were filled with something I couldn't place. It wasn't the hate and anger that I'd expected, but a cold sort of distance. Some looked at Nathan, walking beside me, and tutted.   
  
Sarah brushed past us and marched, baby in arms and head held high, to a bench right in the middle of the throng of hushed slaves. If I'd felt a bit more cheerful I would have smiled at the way she made everyone in the row get up to let her pass, having chosen an empty spot in the middle of a packed pew.  
  
Once we were all settled in, and conversation had crept back among the people, I noticed two things: one, the pews at the front of the church were bare of people; and two, the slaves were not speaking english.   
  
Sarah struck up a lively conversation with the woman sitting next to her, the strange African language slipping casually through her lips. It sounded..._right_, somehow. Nathan glared at her, but she either didn't notice or care. When the woman talking to Sarah asked him something, he replied in english, which, this time, made his wife glare.  
  
Before long the big wooden doors creaked mournfully, and a small man hurried through.   
  
He was the sort of thin, transparent man that is often invisible, with sallow skin that looked as though he'd never seen the Great Outdoors in his life, and greasy tufts of hair that had been combed back thinly.  
  
His watery eyes darted around nervously as he scurried down the aisle, in between the ranks of African's who carried on speaking, louder than before. Nathan was the only one who seemed to pay any attention to the small pale man. He straightened up, stopped speaking and looked intently forwards. I felt a flush of anger towards him.  
  
At first, I thought the Priest had a strange sort of lolloping gait - see, every few steps he stumbles and skips a little. But then, I raise myself up a little, to see over the heads of the congregation, and see the many casual legs stuck out into the aisle, tripping the little man as he tries desperately to get to the other side. I chuckled, even though I know it was cruel, and Sarah grinned at me.   
  
And that's when I really felt it - the sort of rebelliousness that I hadn't sensed in the slaves before. In the fields they dutifully did their work, ever threatened by the whips of the Overseers. But they'd made a mistake: they'd _given_ them this day, a day to be something other than a slave, and the Africans weren't taking it for granted.  
  
The heckling started as the Priest reached the pulpit, the congregation turning on mass as though they had only just noticed this little fly amongst them.  
  
I see your black robes Preacher - you want to be one of us?? shouted a voice from my left somewhere. Sarah joined the loud laughing, but Nathan remained quiet.  
  
Oh, God has made all men equal - don't you know?! called another, casual voice as if in reply.  
  
That's what I tried to tell one of the Overseers, but his whip did not agree!  
  
What does your bible say Preacher? Talk to us with the voice of God! laughed someone.  
  
Yes, tell it to my child. said Sarah, standing and lifting her baby above the crowd.   
  
She smiled evilly at the Preacher. Nathan tried desperately to pull her back down.  
  
muttered the Priest, his voice lost amidst the sound of the Africans. I think we shall turn to the Old Testament today, chapter.. he tried bravely, hands shaking as he turned the pages of his bible.  
  
Tell my baby what God has set for her! Tell her of his mercy and compassion!  
She cried.  
  
Nathan stood up and glared at Sarah. Sit down! he said, his voice shaking with rage.  
  
she said blankly, noting his anger, So everything in you has not died after all. Her voice was pitched so only he and I could hear.  
  
Don't worry husband! God's love has filled me! she shouted. She handed her baby to Nathan, and began to jiggle about as though she were possessed, laughing hysterically. The jiggle turned into a dance, a clearly African dance, which spread like wildfire amongst the congregation. They whooped and wheezed with laughter as the crowd transformed into a sea of dancing, until only Nathan and I stood still. Baby Anne wiggled as though joining in.  
  
The poor Priest looked as though he were going to be sick.  
  
But as sudden as it had started, the dancing stopped, and all eyes turned towards the front of the church, and the crucifix, with a great wooden Jesus carved into an eternal suffering by a pious hand.  
  
They weren't looking at the cross, but something behind it. A person was standing there, watching. A jolt passed through me as I realised the head, it's eyes staring unblinkingly at the Priest, was a skull. A skeleton, deathly pale, stood, almost glowing in the gloom of the back of the church.  
  
The Africans fell silent, but did not sit, while the quaking Priest followed their gaze and let out a terrified scream. He yanked open the pulpit door and fairly tumbled down the steps, but with the African's blocking the way, there was nowhere to run.  
  
Get behind me, oh Satan..! he gabbled hysterically, fumbling for the gold crucifix around his neck. The skeleton laughed - a deep, booming sound - and stepped out from behind the altar. I realised then, that it was a man, naked to the waist, white bones painted on his dark skin and his mouth cracked wide in grinning imitation of a skull. He wore a rough loincloth and many beaded necklaces, his hair scraped back with chalky paste. In his left hand was a skull, and his right a wicked looking blade.  
  
The Africans looked at him intently, as though this sort of thing was completely normal. I'll be honest - I'd been pretty scared when he was a skeleton, but now it was a man I was still a bit on edge. I felt a flush of pity for the gibbering Priest, who thought he was face to face with Lucifer.   
  
But who ever heard of walking skeletons, eh?  
  
The Skeleton Man began to chant in a strange language, his eyes wide and staring at the Priest. He took a lurching step forward, and then another, spitting out the words and gesticulating wildly with the knife and the skull. His beads rattled menacingly around his neck, wrists and ankles.  
  
The congregation began to chant too, the same spitting inflection on certain words, and hushed menace on others. Nathan was holding Anne and staring stock still, powerless. Sarah's eyes were fixed on the Skeleton Man.  
  
The chanting grew louder.  
The Priest fell to the floor with a sob.  
The door's banged open, and, as if on cue, the church fell silent.  
  
Gabriel's thugs stood in the door, scanning the crowd. Looking for me, I knew.  
I whipped round, but the Skeleton Man had disappeared into thin air, melted into the gloomy shadows like so much smoke.  
  
**TBC......  
  
Apologies for the delay in this chapter - I was wooed by an old flame, Band of Brothers', and so have dreamt of nothing but lovely brave little soldier boys for quite some time, with not a thought to spare for poor old Cap'n Jack. But here I am, back on track, hopefully.  
  
Thanks to:  
  
FalconWing - Lucky you, being a Kiwi! We went pretty much everywhere, in general, other than the east coast of the North Island and the north east coast of South Island. Here's most of the places we visited: Auckland, Paihia, Cape Reinga, Whitianga, Coromandel peninsula, Hamilton, Matamata, Rotorua, Waitomo, Taupo, Palmerston North, Wellington -THEN - Nelson, Greymouth, Mahinapua, Franz Josef, Wanaka, Queenstown, Glenorhy, Dunedin, Riverton, Te Anau, Milford Sound, Christchurch!, and it took us over 10 weeks, and it was bleedin' mindblowing! Where abouts are you from?  
  
Cal- thanks for the ever faithful review! I'm so glad you're still willing to invest some time on this little fic! About Megan - I hope everyone doesn't end up hating her, as I have grand designs for her see, and for them to be believable she has to be _nice_! I know she's a bit snobby at the moment - she's a bit Anamaria in the sense that she can see straight through Jack, but unlike Ana, Megan is quite wealthy and of quite high standing in society, so for her to even _speak_ to Jack is quite an achievement! Don't worry, she' ll get over her snobbery soon!   
  
BlackJackSilver - Haha! Viva la revolucion! That's the spirit!  
  
Jaina Kenobi - Cool! Where in Europe are you?  
  
Otherhawk - Glad you think Megan's okay - she'll feature a bit more in this fic soon....oh, I have great things in store for her, great things.  
  
Amber and Wellduh - thanks for the encourgement! Yay!**


	10. Pity the Pitchfork

** Liberty,Equality,Fraternity - **by Cunien

_Righty-ho - I have some massive apologies to make: in the past I've been completely blown away by you guys, the ones who've been with these stories from the very beginning, and have been supportive, incredibly encouraging and inspiring. I love you all and am forever and always thankful to you. It's because of you guys that I've continued writing, and have grown and developed so much as a writer. This past year I've moved away from home, started a course at university and have generally been so busy settling in and living life. That's why there have been no updates. Hopefully over the summer I can continue to update some more. But this story is NOT abandoned - got it? It's just been adrift in the Sargasso Sea with not a breath of wind for almost a year. But we're all still alive...lost a few limbs to the scurvy, but fear not, I've still got (most of) my fingers to type! So here are an extra 2 chapters to keep you going for a while, and I hope you haven't all jumped ship, cos I'm lashing myself to the wheel._  


**Please forgive obvious typos and mistakes - I'm not the most observant person.**

Warnings: As a series - Mild swearing, not so mild racism and slavery. Also violence and torture, mostly aimed at Jack - Don't worry your pretty little head about it - Jack doesn't.

Chapter 10- Pity the Pitchfork.   
**  
**For a moment I tried to hide. I entertained a fantasy of blending seamlessly into the crowd, disappearing like the Skeleton Man, slipping through their very fingers.

Of course the fact that I was the only white man in the congregation didn't really work in my favour. And since when has Jack Sparrow been anything less than noticeable?

The guards looked around with a rather clever mix of stupidity and disdain on their faces.

one said, motioning towards me. I looked to my left and I looked to my right. I looked him right in the face, innocently. No one of that name here, as you can see. I reasoned. Fairly enough, I thought.

They started moving towards me.

Jack Sparra'.Sparr_ow_. That's me. Jack Sparr_ow. Captain_ Jack Sparr_ow_. If you please.

They didn't seem too pleased, actually. I can tell this by the way the bigger one came and grabbed me and jerked me just _so_ - enough to make my head whip back and forwards but keep my neck unbroken. Quite an art, let me tell you.

You're going to work, mate.But it is our Sunday! It is our day of rest! shouted Sarah, eyes ablaze and flushed from her previous exertions.

Yep. She's right, you know. It's sunday - I can see how you may have gotten mixed up - I used to all the time, but I find it's easier if you think of it as a day that follows saturd-

The man holding me by the scruff of my neck shook me once more.

It's _your_ day of rest, he said, indicating the slaves with a nod of his head. Not Oh. Right. So when's my day off then? I asked, reasonably I think.

said the guard holding me.  
When you're dead you'll rest, said the other, slightly smaller oaf, at exactly the same time.

The guard holding me glared at him.

the smaller agreed with a quick nod of his head.

This is the slave's day off. You is not a slave, says Gabriel.Oh, that's nice, I said.

Gabriel says, to be a slave you has to be a person. agreed the other guard, And Gabriel says he has more com...comp... I offered.

Compasss...s..sssion.. for a pitchfork.That's a bit silly, I said as they hauled me out of there. Why pity a pitchfork? I mean, it's a pitchfork. It's _happy_ being a pitchfork. Wouldn't you say?

The guards shook me till the bright fields outside doubled and swam across my vision in waves.

The early morning was growing into a stunning scorcher of a day by the time we reached the fields. Standing around in idle sweatiness were a few of Gabriel's thugs, but what really drew my attention were their little friends: cat'o'nine tails, knuckle dusters, coshes, whips of varying degrees of cruelty.

I see you've come prepared, says I to one of them as we passed him. To tell you the truth I was feeling rather chuffed with myself. Granted, this made life worse for me, and made my chances of carrying off the escape plan I'd just formed slightly lower than I'd anticipated.

But honestly? There's nothing like the buzz of knowing someone fears you'll get the better of them. I mean, here I am, a prisoner on a Caribbean island - the wide blue ocean lies between me and the few people who don't want me dead. There are 10 men here to guard me, and to be brutally honest they're the kind of chaps that know nothing but brutal honesty.

Brutal, violent, cruel honesty.

If I make them angry then they'll tell me straight up. Alright, maybe tell' is not the most appropriate word, but they'll certainly let me know.

They're the kind of men who speak in fists to the nose, knees to the balls and kicks to the stomach. What the hell do they need all these little helpers for?

Gabriel must be worried. Just a little bit maybe, but worried none the less. He wants to keep me here, and he's heard the stories - oh, everyone has - they spread like wildfire round these parts.

Didn't you hear, Jack Sparrow escaped from that prison in Port Royal a while back? He did you know! Under lock and key and guarded by the Goverener's finest.

And what about that time in Tortuga, when those smugglers had him in that room - tied to a chair no less! They say he trained the rats to kill the guards and bite through his rope!

Wasn't it Sparrow that escaped from under the noses of those Naval ships somewhere near North Africa? Just up and disappeared - there one minute and gone the next - like a mirage, they say.

Yep, all me. In a manner of speaking.

So I set to work, making sure to keep the smile on my face for as long as I could manage. I knew they were watching, and I knew they were wondering: what's he got to smile about? What's he got up his sleeve?

They didn't need to know that, right at that moment, I had nothing up my sleeve whatsoever.

Now having had the honour of working the fields before, I now knew the lay of the land. But then, things are very different when you work alone: every step had to be taken all by meself. So Jack cut the cane. Jack stripped the leaves, and Jack took the baskets of cane down to the grinding house.

In the grinding house the Overseers started the machines, and I dashed about like a madman trying to do the job of twenty men all at once. The upside was that I had little time to dwell on my sorry situation. Perhaps the sorriest situation I've found myself in to this day.

They gave me a break of a few minutes when I swayed and threatened to fall over the railings of the upper level and make a mess of the machines jaws, gnashing away 20 feet below.

And soon the sun was low, and the night coming on swiftly with it's cool starry sky.

The guards frogmarched me to the top of the hill, where I repeated my Incredible Boneless Man trick and flopped to the floor hard enough to kick up a fair amount of dust. I made sure the guards were out of sight along the path before I did so, of course. If there's one thing you learn from this cautionary tale of mine, it's to keep up appearances. Always look your best, always act your best, and never let them see what you _really_ feel or think.

That night I crawled round the sleeping bodies of Nathan and his family, and lay there looking up at the stars. I was like a dead man alive - so tired I felt I could never move again, but still my mind worked away like one of the machines in the grinding house: gnashing and gnawing and turning and spinning, spewing out little bits of ideas. Some were like those little distant stars, like smudges in the sky: faint out of the corner of your eye and gone completely when you looked straight at them. But they were there, none the less.

I needed to get down to the port, if I could, where there were people, and weapons, and ships. Perhaps means to get a message out to the Pearl.

What did I have?

Well, it was better to start with what I _didn't_ have: no pistol, no cutlass, no knife.  
No transportation apart from my own humble legs.

And what did I have? If I could knock out a guard - cat'o'nine tails, coshes and whips. I had scythes, pitchforks... and a village full of slaves: humiliated and crushed, but _angry_.

And here, at the most perfect moment, the little cloud that had been sitting in front of the moon was brushed aside, and the silver light shone down on me like the grace of God.

The anger and hatred of the slaves was bubbling under the surface like molten rock under the surface of some of those pretty little unassuming islands I'd set foot on. Pretty and unassuming, until the mountains belched forth smoke and rock and fire, and waves of heat that travelled faster than the strongest winds could blow a ship, so they say.

If I could somehow incite this anger - use my silver tongue to persuade them to rise up against Gabriel and his men, then I'd be free. And so would they. And I need never fire a shot.

I could sack the whole of Nassau port, without firing a single shot!

I jumped up then. Well, I say jumped' but in all honesty I just sat up slowly.  
The revolutionary flame was burning inside me! I, Captain Jack Sparrow, could bring liberty - equality - fraternity! Free the slaves and bring justice to this little corner of the world!

And once that was done I'd sail to Europe and spread the revolutionary spirit! France could do with some shaking up, don't you think...? And then to America! Across the world! Bringing peace and justice by means of the sword and gun! And all men would be equal! Except for me of course, because, well, I invented it after all. It's _me_ that's the Revolutionary here. So I could be King, right? Or maybe Emperor. Yes. I liked that. Emperor Captain Sparrow. A fitting title, don't you think?

The only problem was Nathan.

The slaves looked to him to lead - Sarah and said so herself. He could end this uprising in a second if he really wanted to. After all, the Africans listened to him when he told them to keep their heads down and obey their new Masters'.

And the key to him was...?

What was the key to him? Because every man has a key - some little lever that can be flicked to make them act _just how you want_. The White Men had done it when they first came to Africa. Oh of course, they took their slaves by force, but they also figured out exactly what tune to play to make the Africans dance just so.

His family. That was Nathan's key. I doubted it, but I made up my mind to talk to Sarah - try and get her to bring Nathan round to my way of thinking.

I lay back down to sleep, trying to calm the thoughts buzzing around my head. As I settled down, the hard ground nudged my spine and I squirmed to get comfortable, feeling my bones creak around after the hard day's work.

Bones, I thought. Bones.

The thoughts that I'd been trying to silence to make room for the sleep wormed their way back into my mind.

I'd forgotten completely about the Skeleton Man.

**TBC...**


	11. The Beginning

** Liberty,Equality,Fraternity - **by Cunien

**I'm sorry Frodo!**

**Please forgive obvious typos and mistakes - I'm not the most observant person.**

Warnings: As a series - Mild swearing, not so mild racism and slavery. Also violence and torture, mostly aimed at Jack - Don't worry your pretty little head about it - Jack doesn't.

Chapter 11- The Beginning.

The next few days of work passed in a blur of aching muscles. The slaves sang and joked once more, and my mind kept a-ticking away.

I scanned the face of every man I saw: was he the Skeleton Man? What about him? Or him?

And a night I waited for a moment alone with Sarah. I needed to approach her first - she knew the slaves. If she could put me in touch with a few she knew were trustworthy and angry - angry enough to let it boil over and rise up against Gabriel - then we were in business.

So one night, Gabriel is out walking around the village, talking to the Africans and making sure they're well, and I'm alone with Sarah and her baby.

And here's the perfect chance, I think. So I get straight to the point.

Who's the Skeleton Man?

She blinked at me, once, twice, with no other movement. What Skeleton Man?In the Church, the other day.I saw no Skeleton Man. She picked up a poker and prodded at the fire.

I paused for a moment.

Alright. So...you didn't see him, but...right...if there was a man, who was dressed like a skeleton, yes? And he just happened to pop up in church, say, last sunday. Where could I find him? Now. Tonight.If there was a Skeleton Man - I couldn't tell you who it was. Because I wouldn't know - not for certain at least, she said, looking at me once more.

What...what do you mean?

Sarah sighed and sat down. There are rumours. Everyone knows, really, but we're not meant to talk about it. Why do you need to know, Jack?

So I explained everything to her. I told her everything I'd been planning for the past few days. Well. Almost everything. There's no sense in giving it all away, just in case.

Sarah sat and thought for a long time, until I began to worry that she'd close up completely and refuse to play her part.

I think it could work. I _think_, she said. And there are others that would think so too. You need to talk to them too. Tomorrow night, outside the church.Great! Fantastic! says I. I could kiss you!

Sarah looked at me blankly. And don't tell Nathan.About me wanting to kiss you?

She lifted one eyebrow, in a way that only women can.

I said, pouting a little. Tomorrow night, Church, no Nathan.

So after some time, Nathan comes back, and Sarah is as cool as can be. I marvelled at the female skill at deception.

Once they were asleep, I crawled outside to lie and look at the stars and the sea once more, before I slept. It was a nightly ritual now, and made me feel comfortable. And comforted. I knew my fate was up there somewhere, written in the stars, and soon it would float down and make itself known. For better or worse - but for better, I liked to think.

Now there I was, smiling a dreamy little smile to myself, and just beginning to feel warm and comfortable and sleepy, when the stars go dark.

What's this? A cloud? I think, for a split second.

And then I realise it's a person, a girl, most _definitely_ - I can tell from all the womanly curves in my arms as she trips right over me in the dark.

Eh what's this? I say, letting her struggle about in my embrace. An angel descended from yon celestial...thingamies?..._guh..._

She kneed me in the crown jewels.

I let her go.

You are... incorrigible Mr Sparrow!Captain. And thankyou, I squeaked, clutching the most delicate part of my anatomy. I may never have children.And that is a _bad_ thing? Megan mumbled.

Your concern is touching. And after all I've been through too, I wheezed, rolling around on the ground.

Megan sat down beside me quietly, and waited as I huffed and puffed and yes, cursed a little, feeling as though I might be sick at any moment.

That's cruel and unusual punishment, that is, I managed after a while.

No it's not: it's an ancient and well known method of freeing oneself from a lecherous embrace. Anyway, your hands were wandering, why shouldn't my knees do the same?Fair comment.I am sorry that I hurt you, though. I've never done that before - I suppose I may have used a bit too much force, Megan admitted.

I'm honoured I was your first.

Megan shifted around and arranged her skirts for a moment, while I studied her face, beautiful in the bright light and harsh shadows of the Caribbean moon.

What are you doing here, Megan?I came to see you, actually, I --No. Not that it isn't lovely to hear you say that - but what are you doing here? In this place? With _him? _And _that?_ I said, touching her engagement ring.

She was silent for a moment, and I worried I'd gone too far.

It's all so complicated.I've got all night, my love.This is mine, she said, after a while. All this. The plantation. My father left it to me when he died. But Gabriel faked the will - I'm sure he did. I've been left with nothing: no land, no money, no title and no dowry. My only way out is to marry Gabriel. I said, a little bit dumbstruck.

Megan huffed a big sigh and looked out at the sea.

Gabriel was an old business partner of my father's - he ran this place for him when we were at home in Ireland. My father hated him - _hated_ him. But he was weak and Gabriel walked all over him.You don't really have to marry him though? Do you? I mean, you could just up and leave.If I were a man, yes. For a woman with no money it's the whorehouse of the wedding bed. And both amount to the same thing in the end: a life spent pleasing a man just so you can feed and clothe yourself.You could run away to sea. There's plenty of women turned pirate. No, really, there are, I insisted as she laughed quietly.

No Jack. That's not for me. And I have a responsibility to this place now. I owe it to my father. says I. He'd understand - a bastard like Gabriel? He wouldn't want you marrying him, would he?

She shook her head, and I sat hypnotised by the way her curls bounced around her shoulders.

There's no hope.Course there is! says I. Just look at me! I'm not giving up, no sir! Already my plans are in motion. I'll be out of this place in a jiffy!Oh, you think so? she laughed, as I rubbed my hands together gleefully and put on a right good show for her.

Yes I do. And I'm bringing the slaves with me.

Her face fell. You're mad. You'll kill yourself and all of them.

I shook my head and smiled. Ah. You doubt me now, but soon you'll see. They all will. Meet me here tomorrow night, same time. I'll have something to tell you then, I'm sure of it.

I only hoped that was true.

**TBC...**


	12. Moonlit Moots

**Liberty,Equality,Fraternity - **by Cunien

  
**Please forgive obvious typos and mistakes - I'm not the most observant person.**

Warnings: As a series - Mild swearing, not so mild racism and slavery. Also violence and torture, mostly aimed at Jack - Don't worry your pretty little head about it - Jack doesn't.

Chapter 12 -Moonlit Moots

That next day passed as slowly as they always do, when you want them to pass quickly. Does that make sense? I don't care - it's me that's telling this story, right? I see by your face you understand.

So where was I? Yes - the slowly dragging day. That night I had both a meeting with the slaves, and later with Megan, where I would hopefully boast of my masterful plans.

But that was the night, and this was the day. So I worked. I worked as hard as I could and as fast as I could and tried with all of my might to clear my mind and let the time slip by.

But that never works.

So I spent the whole day scheming away.

By evening the work and the thoughts had worn me to the bone, and it was with a heavy, dragging step that I heavily dragged myself back to Sarah and Nathan's house. We sat and ate cold stew, and chatted idly. Almost too idly in fact, because after a while Nathan began to look at me and his wife with suspicious eyes.

Later, when darkness fell, I slipped outside to lay with my stars and sky. Inside, the quiet voices of Nathan and Sarah died down to nothing, but still I lay. I'd begun to worry that Sarah had forgotten about our little rendezvous, when a dark figure slipped between the patterned curtains that served as a door on hot nights such as this.

Sarah asked, looking down at me. She offered a hand to hoist me up, and I studied it for a moment. In the bright moonlight the calluses and scars stood out like markings on a map. It was a hand like my own - used to work, hard and cruel sometimes, but necessary. It was a determined and proud hand, and I didn't feel in the least bit ashamed to take it and let it help me up.

So I stood up and followed Sarah to the church, glancing once behind me, and wondering if that shadow, flickering for a moment in the doorway of the hut was a trick of the light, or my tired mind.

Passing the huts on the way through the village, I saw many a shadowy figure. Some slipped out and joined us, walking behind us silently. Others watched carefully, or whispered to each other from doorways.

The church stood tall and dark and unfamiliar to us all in night light. It's dark shadows stretched out over the hill and pointed towards the sea. Perfect cover for a secret meeting.

Sarah led me to the front doors and motioned for me to sit beside her in a small circle of people. Others could be seen standing restlessly, outside the group, watching but unsure. In the darkness I could see nothing of the Africans' faces - only their eyes. But me - my skin stood out like the moon itself, like a bloody beacon for all to see.

For a while there was silence, and I was too wrapped up in watching them to notice that they were all watching me. Waiting for me to talk, see.

says I, clearing my throat a little too noisily.

Why have you called us here? Someone asks, looking at Sarah this time.

The Pink Man has something to say, she answers.

The Africans turn to me, but I look back at them just as blindly.

A laugh to my left seemed to melt through the dark. I turned to look at a boy, no more than fourteen I'd say.

You are the Pink Man. You were once a white man but the sun made you brown. But not brown like us. Now the sun shines all day and paints you pink, he laughed.

Thankyou very much, I grumbled. That's very flattering and all, you know.We cannot be here long. Talk, snapped a voice from the across the circle. I couldn't make out his face, but a vision of the Skeleton Man wafted into my mind like a chilly wind. I'm sure this was him. The other Africans stopped their quiet laughing and looked expectantly between the two of us.

says I. So...well...Nathan told me once that there were thousands of your people here. I looked at Sarah, who nodded encouragingly.

And only a hundred or so of Gabriel and his bastards. And with barely a brain between them either.So here we are, I said, relishing the words and feeling that now familiar revolutionary flame crackling away inside me, outnumbering them ten to one.But they have many weapons, said someone.

agreed another, and we have nothing but our hands.But there you have it! I said, jumping to my feet in excitement. Think what you've done with your hands already - all that cane you've harvested!But we have scythes, tools.Exactly again! Anything can be made into a weapon, believe me!Have we forgotten Dawit? called a voice - the voice of the one I had an inkling was the Skeleton Man.

I stopped and sat down, feeling like the breath had been knocked right out of my lungs.

No. I've not forgotten him, I said, so quietly I thought they might not have heard me.

Yes, we have many tools that can be used as weapons, but if it were as easy as that, do you not think we might have tried it long before you came, Pirate? We have been suffering here as slaves for many years. Longer than you could possibly survive in this place.I know - I said.

You saw what happened to Dawit. These men have dark souls. They feel no pity, no compassion. No guilt. They do not care how many lives they take. They would kill our children, our babies, without a single thought. We have much to lose, and we stand on a knife's edge.I know, I said again, But if I can help...I think he can.

We turned then, and looked at Sarah, head held high in the moonlight.

Dawit was killed by the Master and his men, she spat at the ground in hatred. Not Jack. We cannot live like this, like animals. We are people. We are Olinka. We are Mbole and Yele and Lengola, and our children? Our babies you speak of? We are teaching them to be slaves, to have no pride. We are teaching them that we are lower people, beneath our Masters and fit only to work. We are better than this! And we cannot live like this. If we do not try now, then when?If we can surprise the guards somehow. Make them look the other way and suspect nothing..Ah, see - you want a distraction. And Jack Sparrow has always been rather good at those, I said, studying my nails.

Gabriel hates me, I continued, Can't fathom why, myself. But my point is, he won't miss a chance for a good gloat and whatnot. All you have to do is wait for my signal. Then let loose all hell.

The Africans looked at each other, muttering in a language I couldn't understand.

I'll take care of Gabriel, and you deal with the guards. Do we have an accord? I prompted, after a while.

What kind of signal do we watch for? The Skeleton Man asked.

Oh - you'll know it when you see it. It'll be _big_.

Later, I sat outside the hut, in my old familiar spot, and looked at the sea. I didn't doubt for a moment that Megan could resist my allure. I knew she'd be there, and sure enough, without a sound a figure emerged from the darkness and sat beside me.

she said. Are your great plans afoot?Afoot my darling. So very afoot. Almost aleg, in fact.

She giggled a little, but not high pitched and annoying like the girls in Tortuga. No, this was like rum, slipping down your throat so easily and warming you from the inside out. It was like the sun that peeks out between the clouds and shines through your sails like golden honey.

And for moment then I felt like the king of the world.

So do I get to know of these plans?

I thought for a moment. I said, slinging an arm around her, and smiling a little as she rested there instead of pulling away. She fitted so neatly in the crook of my arm - it felt like belonging.

I said again. It's best you don't. All you need to know is that we'll be out of this place soon. Bob's your uncle, Fanny's your aunt. Like that. I snapped my fingers. You, me, the slaves - all except Gabriel and his scum. she said. Seeing is believing. But for what it's worth - thankyou.It's worth a lot, love.

We sat in silence and looked out at the moonlight glittering on the sea. And I thought, this is heaven. All I needed was some rum, and a ship. And my freedom of course. But apart from that, it was paradise itself.

And just like that, the slight breeze that had been tickling behind our necks, blowing from the other side of the island since I'd gotten here, turned.

Just like that. It turned. It swivelled round and blew in our faces, smelling of salt and sails and water.

It blew in from the sea.

Something was stirring inside me - something was coming.

We looked at the sea as though watching for something.

**TBC...**


	13. Blue Satin and Skeleton Men

**Liberty,Equality,Fraternity - **by Cunien

**Hey Kiddiwinkles! Fear not! This story is no longer a Work In Progress! I've been working on it for some time but didn't want to post until I'd got it all done. So, depending on the response I get, expect to see the last few chapters up in the next few days/week. :D**

**Please forgive obvious typos and mistakes - I'm not the most observant person. I've tried to make it _reasonably_** **accurate, historically, but as there is no definite date for PotC and the Caribbean was changing so rapidly at this time, it's probably a little bit off. I've taken a lot of liberties with Nassau, and more specifically it's ability to grow sugar cane...but there we go. It's _fiction! _** **I also don't pretend to know much about this at all. I'm just freewheeling here people! Whee!**

**Warnings: As a series - Mild swearing, not so mild racism and slavery. Also violence and torture, mostly aimed at Jack - Don't worry your pretty little head about it - Jack doesn't.**

**Chapter 13 - Blue satin and Skeleton men.**

As much as I wanted to sit there all night with Megan, I knew it couldn't be so.

Soon, without a word, she slipped away, back into the night, and back to Gabriel. It hurt my heart something awful, but I knew there would be a time for justice.

See, I've never been one for revenge me. Nope. Because for me, it's _justice_ all the way. I didn't want vengeance - I wanted only what I was due. Gabriel was a bastard, and an evil and cruel one at that. He deserved all the hellish delights I'd been dreaming up ever since he brought me to Nassau - all the little treats I knew I for one would never let him have. Because I may be a bastard at times, but I am not evil, and I am not cruel.

But it didn't stop me dreaming about it though. Oh, such wonderful dreams...

So it was back to the fields and back to work, and the day was easing itself out slowly and surely when I noticed the slaves shifting, just slightly, to let someone move places along the line, slowly making his way to where I stood, stripping the cane beside Nathan.

The man stopped when he got to Nathan's side, and looked casually around to make sure none of the guards had noticed his move. Nathan stiffened and continued working. Someone started up a song nearby, and soon the African's voices filled the air. Convenient, I thought. A nice song, loud enough to cover, oh, a conversation between two men, let us say.

"Nathan," the man said, saying the name slowly, as though it amused him.

Nathan glared at his cane but did not look up.

"Yes, Samuel," he answered. The other man laughed, loud and clear. Only Nathan and I heard him though - the African's singing made sure of that.

"You may call me that if it makes you feel more comfortable," Samuel said.

I was now sure that this was the Skeleton Man. He had the same, slow, tensed way of moving, as though he were a snake about to strike.

"I call you that because it is your name." Nathan looked up at the Skeleton Man, long enough to meet his eyes, but quickly so that the overseers did not notice.

"We could do this all day. You know I'd enjoy it," said the Skeleton Man, thoughtfully stripping leaves from a sugar cane and watching them drop into the basket. I had the strange feeling that the song of the slaves had formed some sort of a bubble around us three men, and we were alone, hidden from the guards in our own little world where the Skeleton Man could idly strip cane and laugh as loud as he pleased.

"But there are more important things," he finished, glancing at Nathan, and then at me. "We will not be here much longer, that is certain. Whether we die in the doing, or rid ourselves of this place," he shrugged, "no matter. We will not be here much longer."

"'_We'_?" Nathan asked, deliberately keeping his eyes down and on his work, which he carried out just as carefully and skilfully as ever.

"Yes. All of us. All of us but you. Last night we spoke with the heads of each village - people from many tribes came to talk. We are all together, as one person. Now it is time for you to decide: be with us, or not. If you refuse, if you hinder us in any way, then you are against us. You are our enemy."

"It's because of me that you now live to speak such lies!" Nathan spat, glaring at the Skeleton Man. I busied myself at work, trying to look as though my ears weren't burning.

"Lies!" the Skeleton Man laughed.

"Yes. You spread them like disease amongst our people, our children. You lead them to believe there is hope - hope to go back to the old land, the old ways. They are gone Samuel! There is no going back!"

"So this is your answer then."

"This is my answer," Nathan said, going back to work.

The Skeleton Man, Samuel, stood and looked at Nathan quietly. His eyes were sad, despite it all.

"You have led us for many years, Nathan, but your people can no longer bear to look at you."

Nathan spoke not another word. The Skeleton Man left, the sun rose high in the sky and back down again, work came and went, and the day with it.

Back in the village Sarah's attempts at conversation were ignored flat out. Nathan brooded through dinner, and went to bed soon after, his back to Sarah and the baby and I. His wife shrugged her shoulders when our eyes met, and went about her work in silence.

It was not long after that company arrived: two brutes, sent to fetch me for Gabriel. "What kind of time to do you call this?" I huffed, glaring at them. "Gentlemen, I can walk my own legs you know."

"Promise you won't run away?" one spat around a mouth full of black and rotting teeth. I winced at his awful breath, and promised I'd be good.

"Right," I said as they ushered me out the door. I looked at Sarah, standing protectively in front of her baby, her eyes sparking fire at the two men, and at Nathan, who was frowning deeply.

"I might be some time," I managed to say before they whisked me away. Sarah ran outside after us. "Where are you taking him? Answer me! Where are you taking him!", but the two men hardly spared her a glance. After all, she was only a slave, and a woman too.

I made a mental note to teach them some gentlemanly manners as soon as I got the chance.

In truth I'd been expecting this for some time, since Gabriel and I had not had the pleasure of meeting for some while. I only hoped I'd survive tonight. I knew that the time of reckoning would soon be at hand, and I planned to be alive to do my part.

But right then, that all depended no how well I was going to behave.

_Suck it up, Jack, _I told myself_. Haul in your pride and put it away till this storm's blown over._

But I wasn't fooling anyone, least of all myself, who I've always managed to see straight through.

I knew the game now, how things would go. They brought me in front of Gabriel and Megan, sat at dinner, and I shrugged away the two guards and shot them a mean glance or two.

"Evening Gabriel, Madame," I said, tipping an imaginary hat. I, of course, didn't want Gabriel catching wind of the way things stood with me and Megan, so I barely glanced at her. With a deal of restraint I can tell you. She was looking particularly ravishing that night. Dark blue satin. Brought out her eyes..

Where was I?

Ah yes, that bastard Gabriel. He made me wait while he picked the meat from a leg of chicken before he dignified me with a response.

"Yes it is a rather lovely evening, isn't it?" His eyes flicked sideways at Megan, like a snake, and I fought to keep myself from diving across the table, gutting him with the cheese knife, and catching it in the soup tureen so I could force him to eat it.

Lovely image for you there, boys and girls.

"How are you enjoying your new life then, Jack?" Gabriel asked, sipping at his wine. He looked disdainfully at his chicken leg, still fat with meat, and threw it over his shoulder, where a snarl or two signalled the dogs were having their fill.

I hoped he couldn't hear my stomach as it cried out for the rich food they ate.

"Wonderful. Bit of hard work never hurt a soul." I made him wait a while, this time.

Gabriel laughed. "Oh I think you'll find it has. And will."

"I think you underestimate me," I smiled.

"I find that very hard to believe, Jack Sparrow."

" 'M not asking you to believe it." I quirked an eyebrow at him, and put my head to the side, studying him. I find this a very useful trick, if you should ever want to disconcert someone and make them feel so uncomfortable it's like their bones are itching.

"I'll tell you what I do believe," he said, after a while. He'd tried to match my game with his own, but soon gave up. There's no one as can out-stare Jack Sparrow.

"I believe you think you have a plan. I can see right through you. You think you have the better of me, or soon will." Gabriel got up and moved around the table, so that he was facing me. Picking an apple from a bowl on the table, he inspected it, and said, "But I can assure you that you haven't. You see, I just don't want you to be disappointed." He smiled at me, as though he pitied me. But we've already established that Gabriel is incapable of things like this.

"I _own_ you Jack," he said quietly. "You're mine to do with as I wish."

"Well." I said, with a little crooked grin, "I didn't know your tastes ran in that direction. I mean, with such lovely samples of the female species around."

Quick as a flash, Gabriel's calm and confident demeanour changed. Like a sudden storm, his face was clouded with hatred and utter rage. He threw the apple at me, hard enough to leave a bruise the size of...well of an apple... on my right cheek, just beneath my eye.

But I've never known how to hold my tongue, have I?

So I laughed. Hard.

"You threw it at me!" I wheezed, "You threw an _apple_ at me! Who throws an _apple_!"

The next thing I new Gabriel was crossing the short distance between us, and two my sides rushed the two brutes, ready to hold me still as their Master taught me my lesson.

"No!" screamed Megan, standing up so suddenly her chair crashed to the floor.

Gabriel froze, his red face and raised fist just inches from me. He spun to face her, his eyes still sparking with anger.

"No?" he said, incredulously.

"No," she said, little chin raised stubbornly.

Oh God, I think. Oh God. She's going to go and kill herself now, isn't she? She's about to sign her own death warrant.

She crossed over to us and put a hand on Gabriel's arm, all affectionate like. Blinking those big long lashes and smiling like a dim wit at him, she played the only card she knew, and I loved her all the more for it. Lucky for the both of us that Gabriel could never comprehend the idea of a sharp and cunning mind behind a soft, pretty face.

"It's spoiling my appetite," she said, "Send it away. For me. Let it go."

Megan did not once look at me, and a good thing too, for I think she might have seen that my heart was somersaulting with pain that she would refer to me as nothing but an 'it', an animal. But more than that, that she cared enough to risk all, to save me a beating.

"And how could I deny my love?" Gabriel said, smiling benevolently at Megan and reaching out to touch her face. I fought to control myself.

"Send him back," he directed at the two men, before turning to the slave who stood in the corner of the room, "And bring us the next course."

But I hadn't said my words yet.

"That's always been your trouble," I side, pausing at the door. "Gabriel, old boy. That, is where your vision is irreparably flawed."

Gabriel looked up at me, his eyes narrowed.

"You think you can own people." I allowed myself a chuckle. "You boast about all these slaves you own, all these souls. But see, you don't at all. You can never own a soul. You may beat them, humiliate them, rape and slaughter them. But never, for a minute, were they _ever_ yours."

Gabriel sat in silence, barely restraining himself, for Megan's sake I think. My eyes met those of the slave as he dished out their fancy dessert, and for a moment, I saw them twinkle at me. He nodded, just perceptibly.

**TBC...**


	14. Let Loose All Hell!

**Liberty,Equality,Fraternity - **by Cunien

**Thanks to everyone who's picked this story back up and is reviewing. I love you all to heaven and back!**

**Please forgive obvious typos and mistakes - I'm not the most observant person. I've tried to make it _reasonably_** **accurate, historically, but as there is no definite date for PotC and the Caribbean was changing so rapidly at this time, it's probably a little bit off. I've taken a lot of liberties with Nassau, and more specifically it's ability to grow sugar cane...but there we go. It's _fiction! _** **I also don't pretend to know much about this at all. I'm just freewheeling here people! Whee!**

**Warnings: As a series - Mild swearing, not so mild racism and slavery. Also violence and torture, mostly aimed at Jack - Don't worry your pretty little head about it - Jack doesn't.**

**Chapter 14 - Let loose all hell!**

That night, when Gabriel's brutes had so thoughtfully escorted me back to the village, I stayed up, staring at the sea on the hillside looking over the fields stretched out, cane waving slightly in my new sea breeze. The port lay below me - from here I could see the lights on the boats, twinkling and dancing from side to side as they bobbed on the waves.

This is where I fell asleep, sometime in the night, my moonlit vigil wearing me out too soon to see what I was waiting for all along.

The two ships slipped easily either side of Hog Island, that sat squarely in the middle of the cove, dividing it into two inlets. The ships anchored at either side of the island, just where the sandy bottomed inlets become too shallow for the bigger ships.

They each bore the British flag. And they were each very big ships.

Battleships, in fact.

British Naval Battleships.

The thing you might not know about New Providence, or Nassau as we shall call it here, is that it was almost as depraved - thought slightly more refined - than Tortuga.

That makes no sense! I hear you cry. But you see, it does. Nassau was a wretched hive of scum and villainy, to be sure, but it was _ordered _villainy. Most of the Bahamas were owned by rich and morally corrupt men, who got hold of the most ruthless and equally corrupt men to act as Governors of sorts.

Gabriel owned New Providence Island, but didn't trust a soul enough to let them govern it for him.

It was every man for himself, and every man administered his own, very special brand of rough justice. Especially our dear friend Gabriel Jones. Oh yes, we know that by now, don't we?

Gabriel ran as corrupt a business as any man, but he had money enough to cast a shimmering glamour over the whole sordid affair, and the British crown dare not touch him. And so, Nassau, with it's coves for careening a ship and it's port too shallow for Naval Battleships, was a perfect base for a humble pirate.

Though I had always been a Tortuga man meself. And that's not just because Nassau meant Gabriel. And certain death.

But you see, the good men of the British Navy had turned a blind eye.

And now they'd apparently regained their sight.

It was the screams that woke me up: with a start I flew bolt upright. I have trained myself over many years to wake instantly at the sound of screaming panic and a whole town in chaos.

And this was before the ships started firing.

Whoever was onboard those ships had a brain or two amongst them: both ships fired all guns, hitting the defences on the mainland cliffs and Hog Island simultaneously. The guns of Nassau hadn't a chance to be loaded before they were blasted into oblivion by the superior fire power of the British Royal Navy.

A few experimental shots were directed at Gabriel's mansion, on the rolling hills beyond the port, but the sly bastard had put it just that little bit out of reach of even Naval guns.

I watched, my jaw agape and eyes as wide as can be, as the little boats began to stream from the two ships, loaded to the gunnels with red coats.

This is where I started running.

The early hour meant that only the slaves were beginning to wake. As I sprinted down the hillside, through the fields of cane, I could just make out the first few Africans emerging from their houses, looking down at the port in confusion.

It had occurred to me then, watching the boats piled high with the pride of the King's Navy: this was _perfect! _No, really, I couldn't have done it better if I'd planned it all myself!

All hell was breaking loose in the town, and all hell would break loose up here in the plantation too. And it's name would be Jack.

"A sign, a sign...," I muttered as I ran. Somehow I needed to let the Africans know that now was the time of Gabriel's reckoning.

"What can I do? _It'll be big..._" I muttered, annoyed at myself. Why couldn't I have just arranged a signal with the Africans earlier, instead of trying to be clever?

Just then a huge explosion rocked the town. The powder kegs and ammunition stores on Hog Island had blown. The fireball blossomed up in to the early dawn sky, rising so high I could see it way above the tall cane that surrounded me.

The idea hit me with such force I actually fell over.

Flat on my face.

I quickly picked myself up, and legged it down to the grinding house, praying to whatever God that could find my soul and look kindly upon it. I begged I'd find what I needed there.

"If not for a sinner like me then for the Africans," I muttered, all breathless and out of puff. "For Megan."

Well. God must have been in a particularly generous mood that morning. Because I found what I'd been looking for. And then I headed back up to the fields as fast as my little legs could carry me.

Back up to the fields, I hear you cry. Why!

Patience, then, loves. It's a virtue, they say.

When I reached the first rows of cane, I let drop my precious find. So careless? you say.

My, aren't we talkative today?

Ah, but you see, what I had in my hand was this: a lamp. An oil one.

The lamp smashed and spilled out the oil, and the flame spread quickly through the dried leaves and cane stalks at the base of the tall plants. It leapt like something living from one row to the next, faster than I could ever have hoped.

My fresh sea breeze whipped up the flames a storm, and soon half the field was burning.

I saw the Africans begin to stream out of their houses, adults and children alike. Quickly and without fuss, they began to carry out the plans we'd made the night before last: taking nothing but their children and their families, they made their way down the hill and past me, veering off past the grinding house and slipping like shadows down to the secluded little sandy coves.

I hid myself in the tall shadows of the cane on the north side of the field, while the south, divided by the barren dirt road, burned fiercely. Soon figures began to sprint quietly back up to where I stood. The plan had been for the women to stay with the children in the cove while the men helped take out the guards and overseers, but I saw now that many women, including Sarah, now stood before me. The fierce spark in her eyes told me she was just as capable, if not more, than many of the men, and there would be little point in arguing. Unless I wanted a swift beating, that was.

Sarah was a rather frightening woman.

"Is everybody out?" I asked.

"In our village, yes. We have sent runners to the other villages, on the other side of the island. Soon they will all come," said the Skeleton Man.

"Where's Nathan?" I asked, catching Sarah's arm as the others moved off towards the grinding house.

"With the women and children," she spat, her eyes snapping dangerously at me.

"Won't he come?"

"I could not care less. I will not be the wife of a coward, and so if he is a coward he is no longer my husband."

Sarah looked defiantly at me, and started off down the slope, leaving me dumbstruck.

This wasn't the way it was meant to go. But then, in my mind, I would have had time, a few more days perhaps, to convince Nathan, to bring him round to our way of thinking. I was sure everything wasn't lost. Somehow I'd believed that when it came to the moment, he surely could not sit back and refuse to rise up.

But I was obviously wrong. The moment had come and there was no time to hesitate. The Navy's attack on the port meant Gabriel and all his men would be occupied trying to defend the town, or if it came to it, destroying all evidence that they'd ever placed a toe over on to the rather less legal side of the business. But they'd notice the burning fields soon, and by then we'd either need to be as well armed as could be, or far far away.

I huffed a sigh and shook my head to clear it of the sick, sad feeling that had settled in me. If I felt like this, I could only imagine how betrayed Sarah must feel.

**TBC...**


	15. The Rescue Party

**Liberty,Equality,Fraternity - **by Cunien

**Happy New Year everyone! Hope 2006 is looking bright and breezy for you all!**

**Please forgive obvious typos and mistakes - I'm not the most observant person. I've tried to make it _reasonably_** **accurate, historically, but as there is no definite date for PotC and the Caribbean was changing so rapidly at this time, it's probably a little bit off. I've taken a lot of liberties with Nassau, and more specifically it's ability to grow sugar cane...but there we go. It's _fiction! _** **I also don't pretend to know much about this at all. I'm just freewheeling here people! Whee!**

**Warnings: As a series - Mild swearing, not so mild racism and slavery. Also violence and torture, mostly aimed at Jack - Don't worry your pretty little head about it - Jack doesn't.**

**Chapter 15 - The Rescue Party.**

So there I was, rushing to catch up with Sarah and the other slaves as they ran to the grinding house, the fields blazing heat reaching us even from here. Somehow the fire had started to creep across to the other side of the field, and I hoped against hope that no-one was left up in the village - the path was now completely cut off by the fire, and I knew that it wouldn't be long before the slaves' houses caught ablaze.

At the Grinding House doors, we found them locked, to no one's surprise. The slaves were a little more surprised by the trinket I took from my hair, and the short amount of time it took to pick said lock. The big heavy doors were soon being heaved open, and by the light of the rising sun and the burning fields, we loaded ourselves up with pitchforks and sharp scythes.

As I was choosing my own weapons, I heard a tussle outside, and emerged in time to see two guards lying motionless on the floor. The slaves eyes snapped darkly at me as I passed them, went to the guards and took their cutlasses and knives. Lucky for us they had carried no guns, but equally unlucky now, for a pistol or two would have come in handy.

Never mind, I thought, we can do this without firing a shot. I'm sure we can.

I was utterly, naively confident.

When we crested the hill that looked down on Gabriel's mansion and the town of Nassau, we saw exactly what was afoot. The port was in total chaos, but strangely enough, there did not seem to be many redcoats down there in the tumult, and for such a degree of panic it seemed odd. Either there were more on the boats, or more hidden from our view, or the Marines, small in number here, were putting on a very good show. Anyone would have thought it was the entire British Navy, descended on the harbour.

Lucky for us though, we could see the guards streaming from Gabriel's compound down towards the port. Others, but far fewer, raced past us, hidden in the shadows, towards the burning fields.

In truth there was little they could do. Most of Gabriel's crop on this side of the island was blackening and buckling at that very moment, and from the dark cloud rising from the other side of the island, I suspected the runners sent to the other slave villages had spread my wonderful idea.

I laughed happily to myself. I did so love to be of help.

Jack Sparrow is the kind of man who thinks best on his feet, at the very brink of disaster. Put me in a room alone and tell me I shall need to escape from a Naval prison in two days time and I would not be able to come up with a thing. But slap me in the prison and I'll be out in no time at all.

It's thinking like that that's kept me alive so long, and you may lay to that. I revel in chaos - I love it like a dear, familiar old friend. Here, in the thick of it you will find me, having the grandest of times.

Near Gabriel's mansion I left my friends the slaves. They raced off towards the port, and to the ships that lay there. Many of them, they told me, could sail a ship. Maybe not one the likes of those that bobbed around in Nassau port, but one ships is as like another, when it comes down to it. I know this better than anyone. If you know the sea, and the wind, and the waves, then you know ships.

Nassau harbour was shallow but broad - large enough for some of the biggest ships, but as I've mentioned before, not nearly deep enough for hulking battleship.

Being a popular pirate town, it was full to the gunnels with ships, perhaps 5 or 600, varying in size from leaky row boats to larger hookers and even larger galleons.

The Africans assured me they could handle the next bit themselves, and we parted company - them for the harbour and the boats, and my good self for Gabriel's lovely little mansion.

As I neared the front of the house I noticed the two pretty hefty men our friend had left to guard his home. Now, I won't have anyone say I'm a man to run from a fight, but why get beaten to a pulp when you can help it, says I?

So instead of charging through the front door like a man possessed, I stuck to the shadows of the gardens and scaled a tree, aiming to get high enough to swing myself on to the second floor balcony.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans.

In my defence, it's very hard to make your silent way through a tree in the dark.

I reached out and attempted to swing from a branch that clearly wasn't up to the task. The scythe I'd taken from the Grinding House hooked in the branches and ripped from my grip, and down I went like a sack of potatoes. If sacks of potatoes could scream as they plummeted. The ground rushed up to greet me like an old friend.

It took the startled guards a moment to realise what had happened, as Jack Sparrow landed in front of them like a gift from the heavens.

So. I charged at the front door like a man possessed. As I've mentioned before, this clearly wasn't the most ideal course of action, and, realising this at the very last moment, I changed tack and legged it around the side of the house. One of the guards sprinted after me, while the other wisely remained at his post.

It was only when I rounded the corner that I realised I still had the branch in my hand. The guard appeared from around the corner, and fell pray to the oldest trick in the book: a foot stuck out from the shadows. I cackled as he tripped and fell face first on the ground. And cackled some more as I walloped him soundly over the head with my branch.

Hearing a scuffle and my gleeful laughter, the other guard soon ventured carefully around the corner, pistol held high. I unfortunately, was held higher: in the (slightly stronger) branches of an overhanging tree. This time my descent was rather more planned, and I landed in a heap on top of the poor man.

After despatching the two guards quite nicely - and in record time - I elbowed the nearest window, and hopped through.

Gabriel was nowhere in the building, that much I knew. In fact, I crossed the paths of no one but a few frightened slaves, who I put straight and left creeping out. Not before they'd told me where to find the lady of the house, though.

Even though Gabriel had been holding her here like a caged bird, he still had some twisted sense of decency. I know, horrid word, ain't it? Megan had been cloistered away in her own little wing. I noticed the fat locks on the doors as I picked them. Bastard.

Inside was a long corridor lined with doors, at the very end of which a beam of light shone out from beneath a closed door. Megan was standing at the window of her bedroom, her hair trussed up in a bun for sleeping. Standing there, against the light of the fires in the harbour and the burning fields, I could see her figure through her thin night gown quite nicely.

She let out a little shriek as I touched her shoulder.

"You!" she hissed.

"The very same," said I.

"I presume this is your doing?" she said, pointed towards the window and the hellish scene unfolding outside.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly take all the credit," I grinned. I could had stayed like that for hours, just the two of us, but an explosion down in the town reminded me what was to be done.

"We have to go. Now."

"But I'm not dressed!" Megan protested as I dragged her out of the room.

I stopped and smiled crookedly at her.

"I know..."

Megan shook herself out of my grip and marched down the corridor with a little "hmph!". I followed behind her, smiling.

Outside we slipped past the guards, who lay where I left them. Megan stopped in surprise at the sight of them, but we moved off quickly when one of them gave a little groan and began to come to.

We were making out way down the hill when we spied a Red coat running in our direction. I grabbed Megan and fell back into the bushes, clapping my hand over her mouth to stop the outraged shout I knew was on it's way. She never did like being manhandled, did our Megan. I could never understand it, myself.

Past the Navy man went, in a blur of red uniform. I frowned a little. He'd looked strangely familiar. Strange, in the fact that his face and the red uniform together definitely did not sit right in my mind.

I shoved Megan off my lap and fought my way out of the bushes.

The man heard my thrashing, and spun around, aiming a pistol squarely at my heart.

"Jack?" he gasped after a moment's pause.

"The very same."

"Jack!" he shouted, running towards me, "I'd never had recognised you! You're all...pink..."

"Thankyou for your kind observation, Bill," I said, though it was rather muffled, seeming as how Bootstrap Bill had thrown himself on me in a hug that made me pleased the rest of my crew where nowhere in sight. It wouldn't do for them to think Captain Jack actually cared for his crew now, would it?

"We've come to rescue you, Jack," Bill said, grinning at me.

"Well, as you can see I have everything under control."

There was a snort of sarcastic laughter from behind me, and Bill leaned sideways to see who'd made it. From this close I could see his eyes blank out of focus and his mouth open a little.

"Bootstrap Bill, Megan Kelly," I introduced. "No time for niceties!" I grabbed Bill and Megan both, and began to hurry them down the hill. I of course, did not notice the way they craned their necks to stare at each other.

**TBC...**


	16. Showdown!

**Liberty,Equality,Fraternity - **by Cunien

**Thanks to everyone who's picked this story back up and is reviewing. I love you all to heaven and back!**

**Please forgive obvious typos and mistakes - I'm not the most observant person. I've tried to make it _reasonably_** **accurate, historically, but as there is no definite date for PotC and the Caribbean was changing so rapidly at this time, it's probably a little bit off. I've taken a lot of liberties with Nassau, and more specifically it's ability to grow sugar cane...but there we go. It's _fiction! _** **I also don't pretend to know much about this at all. I'm just freewheeling here people! Whee!**

**Warnings: As a series - Mild swearing, not so mild racism and slavery. Also violence and torture, mostly aimed at Jack - Don't worry your pretty little head about it - Jack's as tough as old boots!**

**Chapter 16 - Showdown.**

"We commandeered two Naval vessels Jack! You should have been there!"

"Yes, that's lovely Bill.." I muttered, steering them down the hill. The shortcut we'd taken had brought us closer to the burning fields. From here the port looked an awful long way away, and who knew what nasties lurked in between the town and us?

More specifically, where was Gabriel? I had an awful, creepy-crawly feeling that was tickling up all the hairs on the back of my neck.

"I'm confused. Are you one of _his_ crew?" asked Megan. I resented been referred to as a 'him'.

"Yes. But don't you think the uniform suits me?"

Megan giggled. I gagged. Well ain't that nice, ladies and gentleman? She'll act all lady-like whenever I tried it on, but here she is, flirting away with one of _my_ crew!

I was just about to say something to the same effect when a shot rang out and whipped my hat clean off.

"Down!" I yelled, dropping to the floor and dragging Bill and Megan with me.

"Are you hurt?" hissed Bill urgently from beside me.

"Not I. You two?"

"I'm fine," Megan whispered.

"Will - pistol?"

"No shot." He jerked his head to where the additional shot had rolled down the slope, far out of reach.

"Nice bluff." I commented: when we'd met a few minutes back he'd pointed the pistol at me, and I'd not for a second wondered if it was loaded. Mind you, that's not the sort of thing you question when you're looking down the barrel of a gun.

"Thanks," said Bill.

"You two speak in tongues!" muttered Megan, "But more importantly, what are we going to do!"

I was scanning around for a miracle, hoping I'd recognise one if I saw it, when a second shot hit the dirt right next to my head.

"Bugger it all!" I screamed, getting up and running like a madman. The Grinding house was mercifully near, if I could just...

More shots ran out, and I prayed threefold that they didn't hit me, Megan or Bill. I also hoped to God that they were close behind me.

Tripping through the doors of the building, I whipped round to make sure the others were following me. Luckily, they were quick enough to realise that we were going with the 'run like hell' plan, and were right behind me. I slammed the great doors shut as soon as they skidded in, and we sagged against them, wheezing. Megan gasped a little: her feet were bare and bleeding from our dash towards the house. I was just about to ask her if she was alright when a third shot blasted a hole through the door. Again, right next to my head.

Swearing, I joined Bill and Megan who were running towards the machinery on the Grinding House floor. The grinder and the various monstrous machines were gnashing away - they were started up early each morning - though there was no one in sight. I hoped that any slaves in the building had left: I had a feeling things would not go smoothly from here on in.

"Plan?" asked Bill, catching his breath.

"Always," I lied, racking my brains. "There's only one way out, and Gabriel's got that covered. I think he's alone." I tugged at my lip thoughtfully.

"So we have to wait for him to come in. You two find somewhere to hide near the doors, I'll keep him busy and you leg it down to the port."

"I won't leave you here!" cried Bill earnestly. Like his son, Bootstrap Bill did earnest like no one else.

Megan sighed. "Against my better judgement...neither will I," she conceded. I could barely hear her over the loud machinery, but even so I could make out the quiet determination in her voice.

"You two," I said, turning on the commanding voice I used on board the Pearl, "are my crew. I am your Captain." I grabbed Megan's wrist and shoved her at Bill. "Keep her safe. That's a bloody order."

Bill snaked a hand around Megan's waist and urged her towards the doors. He looked around once, frowning deeply at me.

"I have unfinished business with our friend," I called.

They disappeared into the shadows near the door, and I only hoped they'd find a good enough place to hide, and slip out before Gabriel noticed them.

And then I waited.

It wasn't long before the heavy door creaked menacingly, and the early morning light flashed dully on the barrel of a gun as Gabriel stalked through the door. From where I stood in the shadows, I was hidden completely from Gabriel's view.

"I know you have no weapon," he called over the loud machinery. "I know there are three of you, yes. But one of you is a scrap of a boy, the other a useless little girl. And the third, well, you're not exactly a prize fighter, are you Jack? A slippery little bastard, maybe. But in what world could you possibly beat me?"

He advanced carefully through the Grinding House, scanning from side to side.

"Megan knows full well what condition you're in - God knows you've bled in front of us enough times - but does your brave rescuer? Shall we tell him that you're beaten and half starved? Like a rabid dog that needs to be put down? You're hardly in a state to put up a decent fight."

I didn't answer. Instead, I quietly worked my way around in the shadows, watching him and willing Megan and Bill to run while Gabriel was occupied with his fine speechifying.

"And while we're on the subject of your good friend, since when has the British Navy come to the aid of Jack Sparrow?" Gabriel laughed loudly. "But of course! Pirates, the lot of you! Well, well. The Crown will not be happy when it realises it's been had over by the likes of _you_! I wonder if they'll even bother with a trial, or will it be the gallows a -"

I'd had enough of his chattering on. While he'd been talking away, I'd picked my way around to the right. I threw myself at him with what I'd like to think was blood-curdling war cry, and knocked him down.

There we scuffled on the straw scattered ground. The pistol was thrown off into the shadows, leaving two men and their fists to the fight. I managed a good few punches, and received a few for my trouble, but mostly the two of us rolled around, desperately trying to get the upper hand.

I was just hoping that Bill and Megan had enough sense to leave now, when a noise in the doorway drew my attention for a split second. Gabriel's palm came up and slammed into my nose, sending me reeling backwards as the blood began to flow down my face.

I gave Gabriel no time to pounce on me, and sagged up the wooden stairs onto the platform above. This may not seem the wisest course of action, but my only thought at the time was to draw Gabriel, and his attention, away from the doorway.

Unfortunately, things were not unfolding as planned.

I had no idea if Megan and Bill had already fled, or if they simply were not near the door, because if they were there I knew they wouldn't be stupid enough to let Gabriel's man in.

"Is everything all right sir?" the man asked, sprinting towards where we had been fighting. In the meantime my dear friend had edged over and found the pistol, and without a second's pause, he shot his man squarely in the chest. The man went down with a wet thump, and as the echoes died I swore I heard a stifled scream from somewhere in the shadows.

Gabriel quickly bent and retrieved the man's fully loaded pistol, and discarded his own. He also unbuckled the dead man's sword, and made his way up the stairs towards me.

Now, Gabriel had been right earlier: I was not really in prime condition for a scuffle, and the punches I'd received had done no good either. I staggered backwards along the platform. Without warning the sharp smell of burning hit me. The fire from the fields had spread to the building, and was rippling quickly through the lower reaches. When it reached the vats and the grinders it would make an almighty bang, that I knew.

I prayed to the Lord, Mary, Jesus and all the little saints that I'd be long gone when that happened.

"Here," Gabriel said, throwing the dead man's sword at me. I tried to catch it but was rather slower than I'd hoped I'd be, and the pommel walloped me hard in the face. I was only glad it was the blunt end, and not the other way round.

"Please, don't think I'm giving you a chance. It will just be so much more humiliating for you to die knowing you were armed the same as I," Gabriel explained, drawing his own sword.

"Where are your little friends? The boy and the whore of yours? I should have known you'd worm your way into her too. But you're all alone now, aren't you? They slipped out the door when we fought, didn't they?"

"That was the plan," I said, spitting out a mouthful of blood, and attempting to keep the sword in my hand as steady as I could.

"Couldn't keep her, could you? She was so pleased when I came along. Pleased to finally be with a _real_ man. You know, someone who could really satisfy her," I grinned.

Gabriel narrowed his eyes, and I knew that I was dancing with death right here.

"The things she said, when we were alone those nights." I licked my lips and quirked my eyebrows at him. "And you're right: I'm bloodied and beaten and half starved, and I know as well as anyone that I could do with a good scrub. But she still wanted me. Chose me over you." I laughed raucously at him.

"Oh..that must sting you."

Gabriel ran at me with a cry, and our blades clashed sparks. I was weak and bleeding, and the smoke now thick in the air made me dizzy and short of breath, but there was no way in hell I was going to die at the hands of this bastard. After all, I had to stay alive long enough for Megan to slaughter me for saying all those lovely things about her.

Steadily though, he drove me back towards the machinery on the platform. Far below us, the teeth of the grinder gnashed relentlessly. Just as I was beginning to seriously contemplate jumping in and dying on my own terms, or being run through by the most hellish bastard that ever walked the earth, I saw movement in the shadows.

Megan. Megan, the stupid, foolish, brainless girl was still here. And Bill, the dim witted, idiotic, simpleminded dolt had stayed along with her.

So much for Captain's orders, eh?

I was so full of anger - and maybe the desire not to be slaughtered in front of the woman I loved - that I came at Gabriel with new strength. Our blades met again and again in a fury, until they caught - pushing together, our weight threw both blades out of our hands. The skittered across the floor, out of reach.

Before I could move Gabriel had drawn his pistol. I threw myself at him -trying to knock it from his hands, I suppose, though I don't think I would have done the same again. He grabbed the back of my head, and I desperately tried to get a hold on the pistol, when an almighty bang rang through the air.

We stood there, motionless, clutching each other. I saw in his eyes a desperate hatred. I clutched at his shirt, and then his legs as I fell down to my knees. Hot blood spilled from my mouth.

**TBC...**


	17. Unfinished Business

**Liberty,Equality,Fraternity - **by Cunien

**Thanks to everyone who's picked this story back up and is reviewing. I love you all to heaven and back!**

**Please forgive obvious typos and mistakes - I'm not the most observant person. I've tried to make it _reasonably_** **accurate, historically, but as there is no definite date for PotC and the Caribbean was changing so rapidly at this time, it's probably a little bit off. I've taken a lot of liberties with Nassau, and more specifically it's ability to grow sugar cane...but there we go. It's _fiction! _** **I also don't pretend to know much about this at all. I'm just freewheeling here people! Whee!**

**Warnings: As a series - Mild swearing, not so mild racism and slavery. Also violence and torture, mostly aimed at Jack - Don't worry your pretty little head about it - Jack's as tough as old boots!**

**Chapter 17 - Unfinished Business.**

Bill and Megan ran as one at Gabriel's back. My dear old Bootstrap managed to knock him to the ground. I remember this, as they both fell in a heap right next to where I lay.

Some of this tale I'll now have to tell in the words of Bill, told to me later on. I was a little preoccupied while this was all going on, you see. I recall the only thought in my mind was of trying hard not to choke on my own blood.

Oh come now, you didn't think Gabriel had killed me, did you? If you were thinking just that I'd be disappointed, for I'd thought you a little more intelligent. After all, I'm telling you this tale. And I don't hardly look like a ghost now, do I?

So there they were, scuffling away. The pistol was again knocked away, but this time it skipped across the platform and down, missing the grinder by inches and landing in the flames below.

The two men fought with fists, until Gabriel managed to throw Bill's slighter frame from him. Bootstrap hit the wall and crumpled to the floor, and before he could move, Gabriel had Megan in his grip.

With a laugh that even I heard, far far away as I was, Gabriel grabbed Megan and thrust her face to the machinery that powered the grinder below.

"No!" shouted Bill, hands outstretched to Gabriel. "Don't do it. She's done nothing!"

"Exactly my point!" shouted Gabriel, jerking Megan's face closer to the machinery. "She'll lay with that bastard - (he kicked me soundly in the stomach conveniently in the exact spot where I'd been shot, mere minutes ago if you'll recall) - but she'll not come near me!"

Bill eased a little closer, looking around for a weapon.

"And all the times I could have forced myself on her! I should, shouldn't I?" He directed this last part at Megan. "You'd have liked that, wouldn't you, whore?"

Megan sobbed quietly, but didn't once scream. That's my girl, I thought. Don't let the bastard win. Bill told me later how she screwed her eyes shut against the sight of the machinery, inches away from her face.

"Please -" Bill was saying, moving slowly closer, "Let's just -"

But Gabriel grabbed Megan and swung her round towards the wooden railings that guarded the drop to the grinders below. "No. That wouldn't kill her straight away, would it? I'm not unmerciful," he said, his hands tight around Megan's neck. Her eyes were still shut tight. "It'll hurt like hell, but you'll die, soon enough." he said, swinging her closer to the edge of the platform.

"You're insane.." she whimpered, not daring to open her eyes. "You're crazed.."

"Am I?" he said quietly. "Then I must always have been. I've never liked it when people play me."

"And he can go with you," Gabriel said, kicking me closer to the edge. I rolled over, coughing coppery blood, my hands rigid against my stomach and the wound there. I was not thinking about very much at all, when my eyes slowly focused on something in front of me.

Gabriel's sword.

I don't recall even picking it up. Gabriel was too occupied to notice me rise up behind him, on wobbly knees. He tensed his arm and swung Megan from the platform just as I thrust the sword. Megan crashed through the wooden rail with a shriek. Gabriel had one brief moment to turn and look at me in surprise, before he sagged to the ground, the tip of the blade showing clean through his heart.

Bill ran past me as I collapsed back down beside Gabriel.

"Sweet Jesus..." he muttered, quickly kneeling down on the platform's edge. He reached down and grabbed hold of Megan's wrist. "Let go of the platform and grab my arm!" he shouted.

Megan shook her head, her eyes still shut tight.

"Megan! Open your eyes and grab my arm! _Now_!"

I vaguely remember Bill grunting as he hauled her up, and Megan shivering on the platform next to me, clutching desperately at her rescuer.

The next thing I knew I was outside the Grinding House, the air barely fresher and cleaner than the fumes inside. The fields crackled and popped, little ashy bits of red hot cane leaf floating into the sky and falling like snow around us.

Bill and Megan helped me to the ground, and there we three sat - or lay, in my case - gasping for breath and clutching our various wounds. Of which mine, I might add, were the most serious. Bill seemed to remember this as I gurgled on a fresh mouthful of blood.

"Jack...Jack, you have to help us get you to the port...you need to try and walk, as best you can..."

I think I remember shaking my head. Megan peeled my hands away from my stomach and grimaced at the bloody mess. "Bill, we have to go now.." she whimpered. There were tears making little tracks down her sooty face.

My bloodied hand waved around in my vision, gesturing vaguely at her. "You have...you..._stripes_..." I said of her face. It was swimming around in front of me now.

"Bill..." she pleaded.

Bootstrap pulled me up, trying to ignore the way I cried out at the movement. He put my arm around his shoulders, and his own around my back, and Megan did the same on my other side. They were half dragging me down the hill towards the port when there was a scuffle up ahead.

The Skeleton Man knelt panting on the ground, bleeding steadily from a wound across his chest. Sarah was running at the three overseers who came at the kneeling slave.

From out of nowhere came a pitchfork. It flew like spear through the air and lodged itself nastily in the chest of one of the overseers. Sarah skidded to a halt in surprise, which gave one of the other guards enough time to throw himself at her.

Armed with a scythe, Nathan sprang at him before the guard managed to reach his wife. The man fell to the ground.

The scythe was very sharp.

The man's neck was very soft.

His head hit the ground and rolled down next to his pitchforked friend.

I passed out.

**TBC...**


	18. Lives Gained and Loves Lost

**Liberty,Equality,Fraternity - **by Cunien

**Well. Here it is. The end of this particular journey. But Jack has a big mouth on him, so who knows what stories he's yet to tell?...**

**Thanks to everyone who stayed with me throughout this fic! And I am so very sorry that I made you wait so long for chapters. Thankyou for not giving up on us!**

**Please forgive obvious typos and mistakes - I'm not the most observant person. I've tried to make it _reasonably_** **accurate, historically, but as there is no definite date for PotC and the Caribbean was changing so rapidly at this time, it's probably a little bit off. I've taken a lot of liberties with Nassau, and more specifically it's ability to grow sugar cane...but there we go. It's _fiction! _** **I also don't pretend to know much about this at all. I'm just freewheeling here people! Whee!**

**Warnings: As a series - Mild swearing, not so mild racism and slavery. Also violence and torture, mostly aimed at Jack - Don't worry your pretty little head about it - Jack's as tough as old boots!**

**Chapter 18 - Lives Gained and Loves Lost.**

It was a day and a half before I came to. At first I thought I must be dead - the swaying backwards and forwards felt too much like a ship, and it had been too long since I was on one.

I must be in heaven, I thought. Because heaven, for one such as me, was surely a ship, and an endless ocean for me to sail across. Gabriel had killed me and I was in heaven, and I hoped to God that he was in hell.

I opened my eyes. I was in my bunk, aboard the Pearl.

Well. That wasn't too bad. If I had to be alive and not in heaven, there's nowhere I'd rather be more than the Black Pearl.

After some time, footsteps crossed over to me, and an angel eased her way into my line of sight.

"Oh," I said, "So I am in heaven."

Megan smiled. "Even half dead you can't help but flirt."

"Half dead," I said. I paused a moment, thinking. "Which half?"

Megan laughed this time, and the sound brought someone bursting through the door.

"Bill!" she said, whipping around to look at him. "He's awake."

" 'Knew you wouldn't die!" Bill said triumphantly. "Some of the crew have been saying otherwise..." Bill looked behind him at my First Mate , who smiled. "Never had a doubt, of course," he said, tipping his hat.

"How do you feel? Nanty did a good job, but after that even he said you were in God's hands, " said Bootstrap, closing the door in Barbossa's face. Nanty was our surgeon, by the way, a bitter little man who we'd wisked off some French clipper years ago. At first he resented being held captive by pirates, but it was clear soon enough that he was as mercenary and piratical as the best of us.

Bill came to sit near the bed, and it hurt my heart to see the concern on his face.

Don't get me wrong - Bill was a good friend, and it never hurt to care if your friends live or die. But when you're in my line of work it's a little more complicated.

You see, Bill always was too _good_. He showed it that day he led the crew back for me. That was his undoing and there's not a day goes by I don't curse his bones for it. It told Barbossa that Bill was the only one among us all who had a heart.

Bill had steered the crew to taking those two Naval battleships and coming for me. It was a good plan, and a shrewd one - I don't think Barbossa and the rest of the crew would have agreed to go back if it hadn't been for the challenge and the thrill of commandeering the King's own ships.

"I feel..." I croaked, "fit as a fiddle. Where are we?"

"We're anchored in a cove on a tiny island a day's sail from New Providence. I don't think it even has a name," mused Bill. "Perhaps we should call it Sparrow's Rest."

I laughed at that, though it hurt like hell to do so.

"What happened then, after I went to sleep?"

It seems the freed slaves had managed to overpower most of the guards, and with the town and fields and...well...everything burning, there was no one to stop them getting to the boats and making their merry way out of the port and off into the rising sun.

"What about Nathan, and Sarah?" I asked, trying to prop myself up on my elbows.

Megan crossed to the door. I noticed she was wearing a fine dress instead of the singed and bloodied nightgown, and remembered the haul of China silks and fineries we'd taken just before this particular adventure began.

Opening the door, I heard her say something quietly, and in walked two people.

Nathan and Sarah came towards the bed.

"Oh, I do so love reunions." I smiled.

"Nathan and Sarah have anchored their ship near ours. They've been waiting to see you," said Megan.

"You did it. I knew you would, of course," Sarah said. This was high praise from this hard woman, and I took it gratefully.

The African woman looked at her husband, and he nodded back at her. "We'll leave you," said Bill. I noticed with a flash across my heart, that he took Megan's hand in his as they crossed towards the door with Sarah.

"You came back," I said.

"I was always going to," said Nathan.

"Oh, of course. Didn't doubt it for a moment," I agreed.

"I stayed with the women and children, made sure they were safe. Then I came back up to help. I saw Dawit's wife."

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry,

"She wanted me to go. No one blames you for what happened to him." Nathan's voice was quiet.

"Did anyone get hurt?" I asked, "Did any of you die?"

"Two were killed. Samuel died protecting my wife."

"The Skeleton Man?"

Nathan nodded.

We sat in silence for a moment.

"What will you do now?"

Nathan sighed and smiled at me. "Go back, to my land, my people."

"You're changed though," I said, noticing the sad flicker in his eyes, "Things can't ever be the same again."

"No," he agreed, "They can't."

"They can be better though," I said, after a while.

Nathan looked at me for a moment, and then smiled a full smile.

"Yes," he said, "Yes they can."

Pride is a funny thing. You can take it away from a man, as I'm sure you know, after hearing this tale. But the thing is, you can't give it back. Each man has to do that for himself. You'd have nothing to be proud of, otherwise. It's that struggle that makes it really worth something.

My crew showed the African's briefly how to best man their ship, but after that Nathan wanted nothing from us. He wanted no helping hand, no advice. He left, sailing out from the cove in the small clipper that they'd taken from Nassau. And I never saw him again.

That's as it should be.

The tale is almost over, good ladies and gentleman, and you can go back to your lives changed or not - that depends on you. But there's one more thing to settle.

Megan.

As soon as I was up and about the score was clear to me. The crew stayed away from her, knowing what Bill and I would do to them if they dared lay a finger on her. Didn't stop them looking of course, but that can't be helped.

Megan barely left Bill's side. For the first day or two I sat in the sling they'd set up for me on deck so's I could give orders, and I had Bill charging around like no other. He scrubbed decks, fixed sails and tarred ropes. I had him working like a cabin boy. Our own cabin boy had nothing to do but sit around and enjoy a break. And Bill never once complained or asked why.

It was clear though, right? Megan loved Bill, not me. She never loved me, though it cracks open the pieces of my heart to say that, even now, years later.

William Turner is a lot like his father, but there's not many people as know how much he is like his mother. Bill married Megan Kelly some scant weeks later. Too soon, I said, as they said their vows. Too soon.

I'd tried of course, in every way I could, to stop them from doing the deed. I even forbade Bill from marrying. It's the priviledge of a Captain, you see. But he knew the measure of me, and he did it anyway, because of course, I couldn't ever _really_ stand in their way.

So there she was, sailing back to Ireland to try and square things up with her family. They never forgave her for marrying a pirate, and that's how she came to be left without a penny. Neither Bill nor I knew she was with child until the thing was born, but even then Bill couldn't go to her. Pirate's code, you see. Some of it is guidelines, and some of it is set like stone. I wouldn't have it so, but the rest of the crew voted, and Bill couldn't leave until he'd amassed in gold the amount we'd agreed on when we first set out, just like the rules said.

And that's how we came to the tale I think you might know, about the cursed Aztec gold and the young William Turner, later on. I won't go far into it now, for that's a story for another night. But if not for that rule, Bill would never have even been tempted to go for that gold.

Funny the way things turn out, isn't it? Fate, and all that. Sometimes I wake up all cold with sweat, and remember that I'm the only one left now - Megan died poor and alone, and Bill still pining for a love he spent such a short time with. It's the life we lead and the decisions we make, and I regret nothing, for things turn out the way they will.

But these times, when I wake up all a-shivering with the ghosts of the past, I comfort myself with fancies I knew, even then, could never really be: that if Megan had chosen me instead, we'd all three be here right now, sailing the Black Pearl and chasing the horizon across the world and back again.

**END.**


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